


The Harker Papers

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Blood, Dubious Consent, Epistolary, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:42:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 108
Words: 116,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23795563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: We must apologize for any previous versions of this account you may have already read. While there are some truths buried within them, they were also altered so that those within living memory would not realize how they had been duped, and to prevent panic regarding certain events and people. Hopefully you will forgive us the deceit, and not think too poorly upon us.
Relationships: Arthur Holmwood/Lucy Westenra, Count Dracula/Jonathan Harker/Mina Harker, Dracula/Jonathan Harker, Dracula/Mina Harker, Jonathan Harker/Mina Harker, Lucy Westenra/Original Character(s), Quincy Morris/ Original Female Character
Comments: 70
Kudos: 135





	1. Letter; 19, April

Mr. Hawkins,

Perhaps you will find this as damnably strange as I do, Hawkins, but perhaps you also know as well I as do that foreigners are strange people; and if they are royalty doubly so! If perhaps this one is stranger than most. Ah, but where are my manners! The fellow is one Constantin Danesti, Prince Dracula. He is seeking a solicitor in the matter of buying property in London, as well as in the countryside. With the implication of quite a list of particulars, though he did not disclose these to me. I have provided the necessary address below for you to write or telegram to, should you wish to accept him as a client. If not please respond to me, so I can contact another firm.

Yrs,

Sir Robert Parton, president of the Incorporated Law Society


	2. Letter, Telegram; 25, April

25, April

Mr. Hawkins,

It was the greatest pleasure to receive your telegram the other day, and I hope this reply finds you in the best of health! As our dear Sir Parton has already conveyed to you, I am seeking to buy property for myself, my three children, and niece. A place in London, as well as the countryside, in the manor of your own nobility. I will trust your discretion on the London property, though if it could possibly be located in Hampstead I would consider myself in your debt. Also if you could arrange for a small staff to be hired on, that would be acceptable.

As for the country manor, there I do have some requirements. Firstly that it be an older sort, with a chapel if possible. That it be on or near a crossroads would be much obliged as well. Lastly, that it be easily accessible to London, preferably by train. Hopefully these restrictions do not create too much of a burden in your search. I shall be bringing my own staff for the manor, so you need not concern yourself with that.

I would be much obliged if you would come yourself, or if necessary, send one of your own to my castle to finalize the purchases. As I wish to work more on my English, I would hope whomever you send will speak little German, the _lingua franca_ of the area.

Yours respectfully,

Constantin Dănești, Prince Dracula

* * *

**Telegram, Peter Hawkins to Prince Dracula**

25, April

While I wish to have come myself, I regret to inform you that I am suffering from a fit of gout. Have sent one of my best senior solicitors in my stead, Richard M. Renfield. He shall be arriving at Bistritz via Munich with all due haste.


	3. Letter, Journal; 28, April

My dearest Lucy,

Ah, you will not believe what has happened today! Jonathan Harker came to call upon our Mina! But this is not the occurrence which I spoke of, only it’s prelude, which I hope you will indulge me as I tell it in full.

He arrived at the school early in the afternoon, more smartly dressed than is usual for him, and seemingly more charming than ever when I led him to Mina’s class; all the girl blushing and giggling as he begged for a moment of Miss Murray’s time.

Graciously Mina agreed, and directed me to take over her class while they spoke. Which was a blasted inconvenience for me, as I wished to eavesdrop. Do not chastise me dear Lucy, you know it is a burden I will not rid myself of, especially when one works in a school for girls. Gossip is both bread and butter, and currency of my charges; and I must be banker and baker both.

When Mina returned she wore the brightest of smiles on her face, and the most fetching of rings on her right hand!

It is perhaps bitter of me, to feel so left behind, but it is true. For you have your _coterie_ of suitors and now Mina is to be wed. If only you should choose one of those fine men who flit about you, perhaps one of the other two would make good _parti_ for myself.

Ah! Forgive me my envy, darling, for I do not mean it so cruelly. Perhaps soon I shall find a dashing young man of my own and know the same joys as you and Mina.

Kate

* * *

**Journal of Richard M. Renfield**

_28 April_ —Have arrived at the Quatre Saisons, and settled into my room. While I had planned to leave in the morning for Vienna, when I arrived Herr Delbrück (the maître d’hôtel), handed me a telegram from Prince Dracula, which had just arrived this morning.

WHILE I AM CERTAIN WE BOTH WISH FOR YOU TO MAKE DUE

HASTE IN ARRIVING AT MY HOME, A GREAT STORM IS COMING AND

WILL MAKE THIS QUITE IMPOSSIBLE. AVAIL YOURSELF TO MUNICH

UNTIL AFTER 1 MAY, THINGS WILL BE CLEARER THEN.

Damnably strange, but Mr. Hawkins said he was a strange fellow. And while the Prince is right that I would wish to carry on, if there is a storm that will make it difficult to reach Transylvania then I shall tarry here as the Prince requests, rather than brave it. (note: keep receipts as best as possible, so that either Prince or Mr. Hawkins will reimburse for the trouble)

_Later—_ Herr Delbrück offered many entertainments that I might sample in my two days here in town when I inquired him about such things. Availed myself to the museums, for art does my soul good, and it will be a balm to see new things.


	4. Renfield's journal, cont; 29, April

_29 April_ —While breaking my fast this morning, I encountered some fellow Englishmen. They may have been younger and more rambunctious than I, but they were still welcome. They have invited me to come to the famous Munich Dead House to-night; and while it is a strange and ghastly idea, I have still agreed to go. It should at least provide some entertainment.

_Later_ —Whomever might come across this later on, must forgive me my shaking hand in recounting this. For even as strong-willed as I am, tonight gave me a great start.

We departed for the dead house after supper, in high spirits and good cheer. Stopping by a local _haus_ for a few pints of bock (which compares nothing to a good English Ale, but is quite refreshing none-the-less). After which we entered the dead house with a few other travelers such as ourselves. One of my fellows, a Mr. Johnson, pointed out to me some French, a few Germans, and even an American among the small crowd we joined.

The dead that were laid out were thankfully covered in sheets, save for their heads (two men, one young with dark hair, the other old with white, and a young child), curiously with strings emerging from where their hands might be. Mr. Johnson told me this was so that the watchmen of the house might know if those lying within were truly dead or not via the ringing of a bell. A curious relief to know, for I would dread, as any might, the idea of being buried alive in one's coffin.

The all of us settled in for the night as best we could, the air soon filling with the comforting scent of cigars and the chatter of people, even if they were chiefly in languages I did not understand. Despite that barrier, I found myself drawn into a game of whist with two of my fellows and a Frenchman.

A few hours passed with nothing of note. Some of the other visitors brought out food and drink, as if they were at a summer’s picnic. One of the Germans offered me a sausage, but I refused. For while I might have been willing to spend time among the dead, I would not eat with them.

The Frenchman left us to rejoin his own party, and we soon found his spot taken by the American, who was tall and rangy, with brown skin. “Hope’n you don’t mind me joining you. Any of you fellas know how to play poker?”

“No,” I answered, though one of my fellows said he did. “And you are quite forward, joining us without introducing yourself.”

“Ah, my apologies,” the man grinned. “I’ve been traveling here and there with two of your countrymen, but they’ve grown used to my particulars. Name’s Quincy Morris. And while it don’t seem right to bet among the dead, I’m game to if you all are.”

Poker is a curious game, as much skill in lying as luck. I perhaps did not take to it as readily as others, but I found myself enjoying the company at the least.

It was well past midnight now, and I found myself growing tired. The Germans had all left, as had my fellows. Leaving only myself, Mr. Morris, and two Frenchmen. I was thinking of heading back to my hotel, and calling the night a curiosity, if one of little value, when the electric lights around us went out.

Our cries filled the house, mine was only a cry of surprise, while the Frenchmen sounded truly frightened. Mr. Morris let out a string of curses that made me grateful the child in the room was dead, then soon lit a match, even that small well of light welcomed after the absolute darkness.

“Damn hope those watchmen get the lights right quick, darker than a mineshaft down here.”

I stepped closer to his light, my heart jumping a little when he let out another curse and the world was dark again. Thankfully he lit another match. “Certainly don’t have enough to last us to dawn if it comes to it, help me find the door, Renfield.” One of the Frenchmen tried to speak with us, and Mr. Morris replied, if perhaps in imperfect French.

It was a strange relief to find a wall, as if to confirm the world around us was more than the darkness. Slowly we began to make our way along the wall, when one of the Frenchmen cried out again, a loud thump following the end of his terror.

Mr. Morris and I both turned, quickly enough that his match was extinguished.

Not that we’d needed it to see, the woman in white who’d appeared on the other side of the room seeming to glow with her own half-light, ethereal, and almost floating. Her blonde hair drifted behind her like a caplet and upon her breast glittered a diamond and gold brooch.

Somehow her eyes met mine, and they flashed with a hellish light. She opened her crimson mouth to reveal delicately sharp teeth as she approached us.

I found I was not afraid, for how could one be afraid of such an angel? Yet behind me Mr. Morris cursed again, not seeming to care about the delicate ears of the lady before us.

“The likes of you ain’t supposed to be here, _la llorona_. Certainly no one speaks your language,” he seemed strangely in good humor. “Well, me, but I ain’t in a talking mood.” He continued to draw me back, though all I wished was to go forwards.

As if sensing this, the angel reached her arms out to me, blue eyes entreating. “Will you not comfort me?” Her voice was as bright and ethereal as the rest of her, so pleasing to one’s ear. “I am ever so frightened of the dark.”

In earnest I began to struggle against Mr. Morris, though he had strength enough to keep me it seemed. Somewhere in the room I heard a groan, and distantly the ringing of a bell, but paid both no more mind than that in my desire for the woman. She came closer, even as Mr. Morris tried to get us out, and I reached out to meet her hands. Certain that if we touched, all would be well.

The electric lights returned with a snapping hiss, casting the room into stark relief. Much to my relief the woman didn’t disappear, only seemed to change from oil to watercolor.

Yet despite my infatuation with her I found my gaze straying, and what I saw dashed all thoughts of desire and peace from my mind.

The dark haired man on the slab was sitting upright! Baleful eyes seeming to look at me in anger.

He spoke! In a language I did not know, and the angel turned, her voice raising into a scream at the devil who would part us.

What would happen next is beyond my knowledge, or even guess. For Mr. Morris pulled us both through the door and out of the dead house into the cool night air.

Now I must try to sleep, with all of that still present in my brain.


	5. Renfield's journal, cont; 30, April

_30, April—_ I have reread my entry from the day before, and I feel as if I have unknowingly written the plot of some penny dreadful (though I have not read them, the clerks speak of them in tones of horrified delight). Perhaps that was all it truly was, some show meant to horrify and titillate, it would explain why the dead house is so popular an attraction here, I dare say no one in their right mind would willingly stay amongst the dead for any length of time otherwise.

The afternoon sun outside my window promises relief, and I shall seek it out. Herr Delbrück must know of some good walking paths one might take. Modern horrors may easily be relieved by Ancient nature.

_Later_ —Again a shaking hand! The horrors I have experience today far outpace those of last night. I will do my best to write of them, though I fear I do not have the words to properly describe what occurred.

Herr Delbrück did know of delightful natural sights one could admire outside of Munich, and called a carriage and driver for me. Though he delayed my departure by having a hurried conversation in German with Johann, the driver.

Once we had left the down I called for Johann to pull off to the side of the road, so we could better converse.

“What did Herr Delbrück tell you?” I asked, curious about such a worried sounding conversation as I had heard.

Johann shrugged, as if I were making much of nothing. “Only to be back before dark, it is not safe at night, tonight more than others.”

I frowned. “Why is tonight so special?” For the first time I wished I had bothered to learn a language other than Latin, for I would not feel half so lost as I did now in this land where English was rare.

“Walpurgis Nacht,” he answered, crossing himself as he did so. Then he pulled out his watch, checking it in such an obvious manner that even I could understand he would say no more. I motioned for him to go on, before returning to my seat.

The carriage almost jolted with the speed at which Johann drove the horses, likely to make up for the wasted time. He did soon slow, thankfully, allowing me to appreciate the landscape around the carriage. Not that there was much to feast the eyes on, our road being some sort of flat and barren plateau.

We came around a bend in the road and something in me grew light at the beauty that appeared in the valley now below us, almost too green in the late afternoon sun, a more picturesque woods one could not find anywhere else on the earth. Up ahead I saw that there was a road that led down to the woods, and I called out once again for Johann to stop.

“Let us go down there,” I gestured at the road.

Johann surprised me by coming off the box, so quickly he almost tumbled head first into the road. “No sir,” he entreated me. “No.” He crossed himself more before pulling out his watch as if to show me the time.

I frowned. “Whyever not?” It looked like just the sort of place I wished to see, after all. “It is what I wish and I have hired you,” I reminded sternly.

“Unholy, buried her and them that killed themselves. Walpurgis Nacht, mustn’t go.” As he spoke the horses seemed to catch his nerves, for they grew restless. He bound over to them and attempted to soothe them. “Back to Munich, yes? Almost dark.”

“There is still a few hours of sunlight,” I protested. Even as above us a cloud passed over the sun, turning the world cold and gloomy, then bright again. “You do not have to come with me, but I _am_ going down there.” Though after last night I was not sure about the prospect of graves, suicides or not. Though I comforted myself with the fact that it was less likely one of _those_ dead were likely to rise up to terrify me.

In the distance I heard barking. While I grew curious, the horses grew more restless than before. An almost manic glint grew in Johann’s eyes. “Wolves! Hungry after the winter, will eat you up.” He glanced up at the sky. “Snow coming.”

“Now you are just making excuses!” I protested again, my anger growing. “If you are so afraid, then go! I shall go have my walk, and make my own way back to Munich.” I grabbed my walking stick from the carriage and began to make my way to the road.

“Please Herr, no.” Johann was so bold as to grasp my arm, trying to pull me back. “Walpurgis Nacht! Dead walk! Wolves hunt! You will die!”

I pulled my arm free. “Enough of your superstitious nonsense! The likes of this Walpurgis Nacht doesn’t concern an Englishman like me.” Once I returned to the Quatre I would certainly have words with Herr Delbrück about the quality of driver they employed. Except, he had conversed with the driver about it too! Was all of Germany so full of stuff and nonsense? I dared to hope Translyannia would be of firmer quality.

Ignoring the rest of Johann’s protests I continued walking, soon hearing the sound of his whip and the horses moving again.

The road dipped into the valley and I found myself at peace as I entered the woods themselves.

I wandered for what was likely hours, finding no other person, and certainly no graves. Johann’s protests seeming more and more foolish by the second. All was sylvian grace and it was a balm to the lingering terror of the night before.

Stumbling upon a small meadow, I sat on one of the larger rocks I stumbled across. Marveling at the view even this afforded me. Even as I sat though, I realized it had grown more cold, and glancing up at the sky, I saw more clouds there than had been before.

Resolved that it was time I made my way back to Munich, I did my best to find the sun and mark it’s direction, fairly certain that Munich was the opposite direction I began to head that way.

As I continued on I realized that day was bleeding into twilight, and that it grew even darker still as the clouds raced across the sky to cover everything. I shivered as I began to grow cold, and again, when I heard that strange bark that Johann had claimed was a wolf again.

Having no hoping of reaching Munich, I now sought only shelter from the night and the cold; and the storm which now broke above me. Lightning casting everything in stark relief for a heartbeat before all was dark again. As snow began to fall I feared I would die here in the wilderness, my death going long unknown, even though I was expected.

I left the trees of the woods for good, coming across a flat valley, which I could only hope would lead to a small village or some ancient charcoal burner’s hut I might take refuge in. The storm seemed to come and go by turns, more of a frustration than a relief. The sky at times clear, lighting my way with moonlight, or dark and snowy, with only the occasional burst of lightning.

During a rare moment of moonlight I walked around a bend in the rough road I’d found myself on. Stumbling upon a copse of trees and dilapidated huts, most with their roofs missing. Yet I still felt hope, for one of them might still be intact enough to hide away in until morning.

As if in anger the storm began anew and I raced for the trees and the barest shelter they gave. As the lightning roared above me I used the flashes of light to look around, seeking out the refuge I so desperately needed. In one of the flashes I spotted the blessedly familiar outline of a roofed house, and despite the snow and the dark I raced towards it, desperation fueling me.

My haste nearly caused me to run into a low wall that surrounded this house, but following it I soon found some of it had collapsed away, granting me entry. Perhaps this had been some minor nobleman’s residence, which might explain why it was still intact.

As I stepped onto the blanket of snow inside the wall, the world around me seemed to grow hushed, even the lightning ceased. The clouds above vanished, leaving moonlight to cast everything in a glow.

For the second night in a row I found myself amongst the dead.

This was no nobleman’s home, it was a graveyard, and the house I sought nothing more than a tomb.

Yet it was shelter, as loathe as I was to continue forward.

As I got closer to the pure white marble the sound of not just one wolf but many sounded, howls, which even I who’d only seen wolves in captivity recognized. The sound drove me forward, for a wolf would have no way to open a door, at the very least.

I walked around it until I found the door, over which was an inscription in German, thankfully I had paper and pencil enough to jot it down as best I could:

Gräfin Dolingen von Gratz

in Steiermark hat

Tod gesucht und gefunden

I tried the door, and though it made an awful racket, it still opened.

Carefully I stepped inside, and while most of the roof was intact there was still a hole in the corner, letting in enough moonlight for me to see the stone coffin within. A coffin which someone had driven an iron stake through, though it must have taken prodigious strength to do so. Next to the stake was scratched more German:

Die Toten reisen schnell

The whole of it left me feeling queer, but before I could think to leave the storm began anew outside, with more fury than before. Rushing I closed the door, and hoped it would be enough.

Around me the whole world seemed to shake: thunder rent the air and with it a second thunder of hailstones. Which were thrown with such violence I feared they might break through the marble itself to attack me. My whole body shuddering I moved from the door to press myself into a corner, praying with a feverence I had not felt in ages.

Despite the racket of the storm, I somehow heard a faint inhalation that was not my own. I called out and glanced about, wondering if I was alone in this tomb or not.

My search was halted when I saw the woman atop the coffin, who had not been there before. To my amazement she sat upright and turned towards me. My heart stilling in my chest as I recognized the angel from last night.

Wine red lips smiled at me as she stepped onto the ground and towards me. “Renfield, my love.” Like before she held her arms out to me, as if welcoming me into her embrace. “Come be with me, so he might cease this foolish endeavor of his,” her crystalline voice sounded even above the storm, though she spoke no louder than a whisper.

Confusion and fear fled from me, and I went to her. Relieved at the peace now inside me.

She held me to her breast like a babe, the cold diamond and gold brooch pressed against my cheek. There was a moment of horror as I realized she had no heartbeat, but it died away as she spoke again.

“There, there, now that I have given you comfort, you must give me succor, yes?” Her lips bent down to kiss my forehead, behind them I could feel the faint press of strange teeth. “The chest, I think, your heart beats with such strength, and I desire it, I do.”

It did not seem like such a strange thing to unbutton my waistcoat and shirt for her. The wrothful storm above us seemed so far away from the both of us, as if we had made our own little world. Her eyes glittered with such strange delight as she moved, her mouth opening revealing sharp teeth as she sunk to my own breast.

Pain filled me at her kiss, but only briefly.

Then it was gone and the world was white, as lightning itself must have struck the tomb itself, with such strength as to throw me from my angel and back out into the graveyard.

Around me the wolves howled, counterpoint to the angel’s shriek, then I knew nothing more.

At the time I felt only a strange sort of disconnect as the world returned to me. As if my mind refused to make sense of what was happening to me. Heat rushed across my face, and coarse fur rubbed against me as more heat began to fill my cold and aching body. I felt as I did as a child, falling asleep with one of my father’s hunting hounds, the memory bringing with me it’s own sort of comfort.

Even as I warmed, I became more aware of how cold my arms and legs were, the two extremes making each other seem better and worse.

I did my best to move, but I realized it wasn’t just warmth and fur upon my chest, but a great weight as well, one that held me in place and kept me from moving.

My mind finally seemed ready to face the truth, it was not a kind and friendly dog that kept me warm, but a wolf. It's cold nose pressed against my throat for a moment, as if checking for something. I opened my mouth to make a sound, but no such thing came out, fear having strangled my voice. Yet still I forced my eyes open, needing to see the truth that I had realized.

The wolf was a terribly large thing, gray furred and eyes almost a harsh yellow. It open it’s mouth in a terrible smile, showing off teeth that terrified me far more than the angel’s had.

My angel! I struggled to move my head to peer back into the tomb, to see if she was safe, but the wolf growled, the sound shaking my bones and causing me to cease my movements.

That the wolf did not attack me was the only relief, and I fell into a strange sort of acceptance. During which more time must have passed, for it seemed like only a moment later I heard the calling of voices from what seemed a great distance.

Above me the wolf began to yip in reply, as if calling the voices to me. For that I loved it a little, as strange a thing as it was.

The voices growing closer the wolf continued to yip, until the voices sounded outside the graveyard.

In a moment the wolf was gone, leaving me alone.

Despite my weakness I managed to sit upright, and button myself by up again, which seemed more important than anything. I even found my throat working again, a strangled sound leaving me.

The men who rushed into the cemetery looked like soldiers, and they spoke in excited and rushed German as they came to me. Helping me upright and checking me all over, especially my neck for reasons I could not fathom.

I was led to their horses, and brandy was poured down my throat, warming me greatly. “Can you speak, Herr?” One asked me in quite good English.

Opening my mouth, I tried to answer, but no words came out, leaving me only to shake my head. Which led to wracking shivers.

More German, then I was helped up onto a horse and we were away. A fact for which I was never more grateful.

I must have fallen asleep, for the next thing I knew I was being taken off my horse and led into my hotel! Herr Delbrück rushed to us, relief and excitement causing him to speak a rush of English and German. Yet I still managed to parse that he was expressing relief at my finding, and that I was well.

The soldiers left before I could seek to thank them myself, and Herr Delbrück led me to my rooms, pressing upon me a glass of fortified wine. Halfway through the glass I managed to find my voice. “But why were there soldiers out looking for me?”

“I sent them,” Herr Delbrück told me proudly. “I was able to obtain permission to ask for volunteers. It is a good thing I did too.”

This only seemed more of a mystery. “How did you know I was lost? Why go to such lengths to find me?”

“The coachman was greatly alarmed when he returned to us, and contrite that he could not convince you to return with him. As for why,” he produced a telegram for me.

With some shock I realized it had been sent the same day as the Prince’s telegraph for me, but clearly it had not been meant for my eyes.

BE CAREFUL WITH MY GUEST. HIS IS AN ENGLISHMAN, 

AND THUS MUST BE AN ADVENTUROUS SOUL.

SHOULD HE BE LOST, SPARE NO EXPENSE IN LOOKING FOR HIM, 

FOR THOUGH WE HAVE NOT MET I TREASURE HIM GREATLY 

AND WOULD BE MUCH DISPLEASED IF HE WERE HARMED —Dracula

Taking the telegram back Herr Delbrück made his leave and I was left to write up my accounting of what happened. I can only hope in the morning when I awake it will all seem the clearer, for I feel as if I am caught between angels and devils.


	6. Telegrams; 1, May

**Kirk Delbrück to Peter Hawkins**

_1, May 3 PM_

Having no one else to contact I must turn to you, Herr Hawkins. I fear your man has gone mad! When the maid tried to wake him this morning he almost attacked her, screaming all the while. He has been detained by the police, who will likely contact you in turn.

* * *

**Peter Hawkins to Jonathan Harker**

_1, May 4 PM_

I know this is much to ask of you, my boy, but you must come to the offices immediately! I need to send you on an important job, for there are none I would trust with it after all that has occurred.


	7. Johnathan Harker's journal; 2, May

(written in shorthand)

 _2, May. On route to Vienna—Festina lente_! Or at least that is how I feel, after such a harried rush to get to now.

After Mr. Hawkins called me into the office and explained the job to me, he sent me to the British Museum to find all that I could on Transylvania while he gathered the materials I would need for my trip.

Not that I was able to find much before they closed, what maps I found offered no sign of where this castle I was to go could be found, but that is no great surprise. And I had only the barest time to skim over what books were given to me. Hopefully it will all be enough.

From London to Paris was quick, and the city as beautiful as I recall, I would describe it to you Mina, but I find I wish to see the wonder of it upon your face when we travel there, together.

Ah, together! What a strange thought to have, even now after almost a week. Though by the time I hand this to you for your transcription we perhaps shall both laugh at that thought, as old as it will be then. But yes, we shall go to Paris together and I shall show you all it’s beauty.

Though I dare say there was nothing beautiful about the hour which I left Paris upon this train, only lamplighters and knockers likely find four in the morning to be sweet. Managed to catch some sleep before breaking my fast and starting this journal.

_Later_ —Have gone over the papers Mr. Hawkins all but shoved at me before pointing me towards my train. The properties seem like charming places, though that Carfax is so close to an asylum is perhaps not ideal, yet it is the only listing Hawkins could find that matched the Prince’s particulars, so it shall hopefully please despite this.

Despite being tempted, I have not touched the sealed letter addressed to the Prince. Hawkins has never spoken poorly of me, and I must believe it only speaks to my character and not my newness as a solicitor, for this will be my first assignment and I am greatly nervous of getting something wrong. Especially with the client in question being a Prince! Hopefully he will forgive what bumbling I might give, and be of good disposition.

I must try to sleep again now, more trains to catch tomorrow before my journey is done.


	8. Harker’s journal, cont; 4, May

_4, May. Bistritz_ —Two hours! Two hours is how slim I have cut it, any later I would have missed the mail carriage the Prince booked me passage on.

I reached Vienna early morning on the third, and had quite good coffee at a coffee house close to the station before having to catch my train to Budapest.

Another place we shall have to go, Mina, for what little I saw of it interested me greatly. Even with such a taste of it I dare say that should I ever have a conversation where people wonder where the East and West meet, I shall put my pin firmly in Budapest. Especially as I was leaving the city I felt as if I had bid farewell to the West, and now all that lay before me was the East.

Arrived in Klausenburgh after nightfall, and managed to find a room at the Kónigen von England. Had supper of some sort of chicken with pepper, and had the good fortune of remembering to ask the waiter for the receipe for you, Mina. Which will certainly fire my memory should you ever serve it when I return. Though we shall have to have plenty of water when we do.

While we left in good time for Bistritz, the train seemed to inch along. Which, while giving me much to admire my surroundings, did not do well for the time I did not know I had to lose.

Not that I knew it then, I only stared at the hilltop towns; the numerous rushing rivers and streams; the variety of dress in the peasants I saw at the stations we paused in, which almost made me wish I had some skill at sketching to properly document it. It left me feeling even more as if I had long left what I’d known.

After a dog’s age we finally reached Bistritz, and I went quickly to the hotel where Mr. Renfield had intended to stay; Mr. Hawkins will not say what happened to the stern old man, but I hope he’s well.

Reaching the hotel I was greeted by a cheery old woman, dressed as may of the peasants here are; which I find...distressing, but no local seems to credit. As I got closer she bowed. “Herr Englishman?”

“Yes, though Jonathan Harker,” I replied. Not that I thought they might not understand the difference between me and Mr. Renfield; I did not want to deceive them however.

She called out in what must have been Romanian, and a moment later a man, likely her husband, entered, letter in hand. I recognized the Prince’s handwriting from the letters Hawkins showed me.

My friend, Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. I have booked you fare on the mail coach leaving Bistritz for Bukovina leaving on May 4, at seven in the evening. Which has been instructed to stop in the Borgo Pass where my carriage will be waiting for you. I hope your journey has been a pleasant one, and that you will enjoy your stay here in my country for your duration.

Your Friend,

Dracula

So odd, that a man who claims he needs must work on his English already writes it better than I seem to! Perhaps living in a castle with only your children affords you much in the way of time to learn things.

  
Luckily I have enough light outside to write still, for the oddest thing has just happened. After I’d supped and written the above entry, I started to make my way outside to wait for the mail carriage so I did not miss it. I was almost to the door when the landlady blocked my path. “Must you go? Oh! Stay.” Her distress grew so great that she slipped from German into tongues I did not know.

I did my best to calm her, telling her sternly that I must go, that there had already been too much delay for such important business.

“Do you not know what the day is?” I replied that I did, May the fourth, hence my need to go.

“Yes, yes,” she seemed unreceptive to my attempts at calming her. “But you must know the kind of day it is, Herr, even in your part of the world.” She must have seen confusion on my face, for she continued, pressing closer to me.

“It is the eve of St. George’s Day! There will be much evil at work tonight, and you shall suffer so if you good heedlessly into it. I worry as your mother might, Herr, if not for my sake, then hers!” She crossed herself as tears began to stream down her face.

For a moment I did not know what to do. What I’d briefly managed to read had mentioned Transylvania was home to much myth and superstition as we English had already discarded, but to be met with it from a woman I hardly knew, seemed beyond the pale.

Moreso when she went down on her knees, begging me in the name of the Virgin Mary, and various Saints I did not know, not to leave. So much so that I found myself becoming uncomfortable with how she was carrying on. (aside: the coach is now late)

I managed to get her to stand, and wiped her tears away, trying to be more stern with her as I told her this was my duty, and I had no choice.

Thankfully she seemed to understand this, and I stared as she took her rosary out from her bosom and offered it to me.

I didn’t know what to do. I have, of course, been taught that such things are idolatrous, but to refuse this lady after such hysterics and worry felt cruel. It was not my fault she did not know as well as I. Carefully I took it, and was glad to see the relief in her face brought her a measure of calm. “Wear it,” she insisted, “for your mother.” Then finally let me pass. I put it among my things where it will do no harm to either of us, and perhaps on my return trip I shall give it back.

Ah, here’s the coach!


	9. Harker’s Journal, cont; 5, May

_5, May. The Castle_ —I have not slept since arriving here, but the sun is now high over the jagged horizon. Hopefully writing what now has happened since my arrival, will induce me to sleep, despite it all being more strangeness; though this time of my own perception it seems and not the works of others.

After the coach arrived and my bags were loaded I climbed aboard, yet the driver tarried to speak with the landlady. They spoke seemingly in four languages at once, so that I had to get out my polyglot to translate. _Hell, devil, witch,_ such ‘nice’ words, what sort of man is this Prince to elicit such opinions?

Soon enough the driver returned to the carriage, my eyes were on the landlady though as she once again made the sign of the cross and then pointed two fingers at me. There were only two other passengers with me in the carriage, and the old woman was deep in prayer so I asked the bespeckled gentleman if he knew about it.

He answered: “They mean nothing by it, it’s to guard against the evil eye. Your German is good, for a foreigner.”

A strange sentiment to be on the other end of! I enquired about the Prince, and he expressed surprise that I was going to see him. “He does not much leave his castle, which only adds to the stories about him that swirl about. You heard them speaking before we left, yes? The peasants do respect him, for the wolves keep to the woods, and I have never heard tell of banditry in all my years of traveling this land. But they are superstitious as well, as they are wont. He is of a great and noble family, and Szekely as well.”

We then fell into a natural sort of quiet. I turned my attention to the window, the dying light of the sun painting the world ruddy, but managing to add to the beauty of the woods and farmhouses. I spotted a number of fruit trees, their blossoms a rich red in the light; yet despite this blush of spring, if one looked high enough into the mountains you could still see snow and glaciers.

The road was not well kept, but still we raced over it now, which did not make for good travel. Still I feared to tell the driver to slow down, especially since there seemed to be no others on the road. A loneliness that grew as the sun dipped below the mountains, though you could still see it’s reflection in the snow painted pink.

We did stop, but only so the driver could light his lamps, then we took off at great speed again. 

Cold began to seep into me, though I was soon distracted from it by the old woman, who pressed twigs of some sort into my hands. “Safe,” she declared, before returning to her prayers. I would have asked the man about it, but he had fallen into sleep.

Around us the mountains began to press close, the Borgo Pass in true.

The woman grew anxious, and it seemed to be catching for the driver peered all around as best he could, though the lamps did little but illuminate the steam coming from the horses.

The Pass opened up, bringing with it the newly risen moon, which gave enough light that I could finally see another road intersecting with ours. Other than that I saw nothing, not even the distant light of another carriage. Gladness and relief all but radiated from the driver and woman, as if to mock me.

Despite the gladness the driver still brought us to a stop, making it clear this was where the Prince’s conveyance was supposed to meet us. The driver checked his watch and muttered something to himself before turning to speak to me. “You are not expected,” he spoke as if this was a good thing. “Continue on with us to Bukovina. I shall drive you back tomorrow, without charge.” Which seemed a fair deal.

Yet even as he spoke the horses grew restless, dangerously so. Sounding over them came the rattle of another carriage, which revealed itself to be a calèche, with four black horses, when it overcame us and drew to a stop. The driver was tall, with dark curling hair, and wearing a dark hat that hid the top of his face, yet the lamplight managed to reach in and make his eyes glitter red (an effect I’d seen before in the dim pubs other clerks had dragged me to when I was among them). He also wore a bulky coat that covered him from shoulder to foot, even when he stood up; peculiar, but likely to protect him from the cold. “You are early tonight, friend,” his voice was light, and airy, almost ill-befitting a man of his appearance.

“The English Herr was in a hurry,” the driver stammered. Before I could protest this, the prince’s man spoke.

“I should hope that is the truth. If he is in a hurry, then we shall do well, for my horses are swift.” He turned and the lamplight left his eyes to reveal his mouth, too lush, and seemingly too red against neat, sharp, teeth.

The old lady crossed herself, and whispered from “Lenore,” as if it were scripture: “Denn die Todten reiten schnell.” ( _for the dead travel fast_ )

The driver must have heard, for he laughed, again at odds with his bearing. “Give me the luggage, we have a ways yet to go, even with swift horses.” In seemingly no time my bags were passed over, and soon I was being helped into the calèche by a grip of steel and prodigious strength. 

He seemed determined to prove his claim over his fast horses, for he shook the reins and we were off, fear rose up in me for we did not even have a light to guide us besides the moon.

As we hurdled through the darkness I felt something settle around my shoulders, and a rug placed on my legs. “I was told to look after you,” he spoke surprisingly good English. “There is țuicǎ under the seat should you desire it.” Drink was the last thought in my mind, but knowing it was there did comfort some.

Thankfully the driver seemed to know what he was about, even if I greatly disliked the feeling of taking corners in the dark. Soon he slowed the calèche, much to my relief. Even coming to a complete stop. “Do not leave the carriage,” the driver warned, then left himself.

I only just managed to track him, frowning slightly when I saw a pale blue flame flickering in the distance, and for a moment I though I saw the flame through him. After a few moments he returned and we continued on.

He did this twice more, each time the urge to ask growing in me. Again he stopped the carriage, but not for some blue flame, but because the horses were growing restless as howling began some distance away. He murmured to them in a sing-song manner, and even as the howls grew louder I was amazed to see the horses calm. He returned and we continued.

“Are you not worried about the wolves?” I finally asked.

Again that odd laugh. “No, Herr, the wolves will not attack us.” The barest glint of moonlight made his grin seem all the more frightening. “Do not worry, we are almost there.” 

Trees now hemmed us in, and I felt as if the world were closing in on me. The driver stopped again, and I nearly begged him to continue on, that nothing could be worth our stopping. He was gone before I could think to speak however, and looking around I could not spot him, or any blue flame either.

It is a queer thing to be alone in a silent and dark world, a reminder that for all we have advanced, humanity has not conqured all the corners of the world, even when we think we have.

Moonlight soon returned, dispelling the darkness and my thoughts. For it is hard to think of much else when one realizes they are surrounded by wolves. My hands went under the seat, but found only the bottle of țuicǎ. Scrambling to the driver's seat I did my best to pound against the wood to try and scare them off as I searched for a gun; for I reasoned the driver must have one.

Despite the wolves, the horses were still and calm, as if it had been more than horse whispering the driver had done. I called for him, I could find no gun here, but perhaps he had one on his person. It was the only slim hope I had, and how I clung to it.

I could see movement in the trees, and to my eternal relief the driver stepped onto the road. Strangely he did not pull out a gun, only spoke something in a low tone. The wolves seemed to cower away, but I saw no more than that, for clouds passed over the moon, casting everything in darkness.

The calèche rocked, and I could only just make out the form of the driver, who must have grabbed the reins, for the horses made a sound, then began to move. I wished to speak, but fear made the words dry up in my throat.

Soon I realized we were traveling upwards, and it seemed only a heartbeat later that we pulled into the courtyard of a castle. With no moonlight I could tell nothing else.

The driver helped me out and carried my luggage up a set of stairs to a door on the first floor. He banged his fist on the door, then returned to the calèche. Vanishing once again and leaving me truly alone.

Fear returned, and with it doubt, for what was I to do? What strange and alien place did I allow myself to be sent? What sort of man was the Prince that his people respected him while calling him a devil?

All these thoughts crowded in like unwelcome guests, and the only thing I could attempt to do was to tell myself to be patient, that morning must soon be coming for all the time the driver took in getting us here.

Resolving myself to this as best I could, I still found myself relieved when I heard the creak of unoiled hinges. The door opened to me.

A tall man, perhaps only a few years older than myself stood on the other side. The oil lamp in his hand revealed a sharp, cruel face that was clean shaven, with dark eyes; dressed like many of the other well-to-do I had seen since arriving, if all in black.

He gestured me to him with a smile that softened his cruelty some. “Herr Renfield?”

“No,” I answered as I stepped in. “Jonathan Harker, I have a letter from my employer that explains everything. Prince Dracula?”

The man stepped past me with a bark of laughter, to my amazement collecting my luggage. “My father,” he explained wryly. “I am only Mircea Dănești, if you please.” He rejoined me. “Welcome, still, to this home of which you came freely. Yet you shall leave safely and, I hope, leave something of the happiness you brought!” A strange greeting, but after everything I hardly cared. “Now come, for it is cold out and you must be hungry and tired, yes?” Without waiting for my response he somehow closed the door and began leading the way down the narrow hallway.

He led me up a tightly wound stair, and down an echoing hall before we reached another stair; all of it seeming to try and tell me that this was a castle in truth, and not some place of leisure meant to seem as such. Opening an iron shod door he revealed the most welcome sight of all, a room brightly lit with a roaring fire and a well set table.

Sit Dănești, perhaps that is not the proper address, but I am not sure what else it might be, led me past these to an octagonal antechamber and through another door. “Your room,” he said, setting my things down. It was better appointed than I expected, with a great four poster bed and a fire all its own.

Back in the main room he gestured at the food. “Please. Eat. You will forgive me for not joining you, for I have already supped.”

I handed him the letter Mr. Hawkins had written and eagerly sat to eat. He read it solemnly, before smiling at something and handing it over to read, much to my pleasure. As I expected, in it Mr. Hawkins apologized for his own absence, and that Mr. Renfield had been otherwise detained and could not continue. I felt a thrill though, at the last portion:

...I am happy to say that Mr. Harker is a more than sufficient substitute, one whom I have trusted greatly over the years. He is young, and perhaps not as experienced as others, but full of much talent and energy, and quite faithful. Jonathan will attend you well during his stay, and with all the discretion and silence one should hope for in a solicitor...

Sir Dănești, much to my surprise, poured me some quite excellent tokay, and sitting across from me asked many questions about my travels, which I did my best to answer.

We both seemed so engrossed in the conversation that it seemed the logical thing to move to the fire and continue it. He lit my cigar when I pulled out my case, but declined when I offered him one, saying he did not smoke.

This new vantage point allowed me better to study Sir Dănești: adding to the sharp features I had noted earlier was an aquiline nose, and full, ruddy, lips, which now and again parted to reveal sharp white teeth. His ears seemed almost pointed, and pale against his dark hair, which was longer than the European fashion, but fit this land. 

He gestured to a door in the far corner, pointing out the library which I was welcome to whenever I pleased, and my focus turned to his hands. They seemed better fitted to a workman than royalty, but they were also as pale as the rest of him, with nails that were strangely pointed.

Coming up to me he placed a hand on my shoulder, and despite the fact he’d only just been standing by the fire the hand was almost freezing, and I shivered at it.

A strange smile crossed his lips and he pulled away. Embarrassed, I turned my attention to the window, where I saw the first fingers of dawn reaching out. I breathed in air both smokey and fresh and found a sort of tranquility settled over me, the likes of which I had never felt before. Even the howling of wolves could barely detract from it.

Sir Dănești went to the window, smiling. “Ah, what music those children of the night make.” He turned to look at me, and must have seen some expression on my face, for he laughed briefly and continued. “Ah, but you are from a great city, you cannot perhaps entertain the camaraderie of hunters.” He returned, his hand settling on my shoulder again. “But it is late now, and you must be tired. You shall not see me tomorrow, for I will be away on business, but my father will likely force himself out of bed to speak business with you, while my sisters fret.”

He guided me to the octagonal room again, and bowed. “Dream well.”

Ah, Mina! I feel adrift in a sea of wonders. Doubt, calm, things I am certain I dare not wish to confess, even to myself. Yet I fear by the end I must, for my own sanity. Though I hope that will not come to pass.


	10. Harker's Journal, cont; 7, May

_7, May_ —I slept well and long, and had awoken to find it late afternoon. The sunlight allowed me to take better account of my room, and I found myself taken aback, for the curtains were silk, and the tapestries lining the walls were of still good quality. I found not a single mirror, but I have my shaving one in my bags should I need it. Back in the dining hall I noticed more fine tapestries, and that there was food and wine upon the table again.

Ah! How did it slip past me last night that I was dining on gold! This time I was all too aware of it, and am all too aware of things long familiar to me now taste new and different.

Finishing my meal, I do not know whether to call it breakfast or dinner, I sought out a bell to call the servants. Finding none I tried the doors to attempt to call someone. The one across from the antechamber was firmly locked, as was the one that led to the corridor Sir Dănești and I had entered through the previous night. Discomfited, I went into the library, perhaps when I meet the prince tonight he shall explain this to me.

While the prince’s library may not equal the ones in London, it aquits itself well, and has quite lovely views from it’s windows which let in fresh, green air. English, French, German, Italian, languages I do not know the names of and many more that look like no alphabet I’ve ever seen before.

I was comforted by the amount of English around me, at least while I am here I shall not lack for reading material: books, newspapers, magazines, plays all covering more subjects than I can count. Botany, history, almanacs, the Army and Navy lists, the London Directory, society gossip, and ah! the Law List.

As I was examining these I heard a sound behind me. Thinking it the Prince I turned to greet him. It was not the Prince though, but a woman, slim and elegant, standing next to the large table. Her hair was blonde and pinned up, and her skin a pale brown, made more evident from her white dress, which seemed better suited for the Napoleonic wars than modern day. Her modesty was preserved, to my relief, by a shawl, held in place by a gold and diamond brooch that fit with all else I have seen in the castle so far.

Her blue eyes drew me closer.

Oh, Mina! I hate that you will one day read this! For then I could only think she was the most beautiful woman I had ever had the pleasure of meeting, and I thought nothing of you. I hope you will forgive me this, my love. I am such a tangle that I do not even know if what I am feeling is some effect of the past few days, or true emotion.

“Hello,” I said in German, before recalling the prince’s interest in his family, for she must have been a member of it, learning English. So I greeted her in that as well.

“Who are you?” Her English was good, if exotically accented, her tone clear as struck glass and pleasing to hear. “There should be no visitors.”

I explained who I was and why I had come, and for the time it took for me to inhale her expression seemed to change to one of pure, animalistic, violence, then it was gone. She moved closer, the dying afternoon sunlight setting her aglow.

I moved with her, needing to be closer. “I see, then I am glad that you have come,” her voice became even more lovely. “Will you dine with me? For I am quite famished and would like the company.”

Ah! For I nearly did agree, all that stopped me was the sound of the door opening behind us. I turned again, to see an old man and two more women, dressed as the blonde, but their clothes were darker shades, as if to match their dark curling hair.

“Ah!” The old man’s eyes glittered red under bushy eyebrows. “It is good that we finally meet, Harker Jonathan! And it pleases me that you have already made yourself at home amongst my things. I hope you had a good sleep, yes?” He approached me and offered his hand, clapping his other onto my shoulder soundly. He felt just as cold as his son, and I could see their faces were quite similar, though the Prince had a long white mustache.

The two women, they too looked similar to Sir Dănești, and must have been his sisters, glided past us and went to sit in two arm chairs, pulling out baskets. Not that I paid them much attention, my gaze darting around for the blonde, who was nowhere to be seen!

The Prince must have seen something on my face, for her frowned. “What is it, my friend?”

I explained my strange encounter, and my surprise at the woman having vanished.

“My niece is wont to do that,” he answered mysteriously. “She was struck with the same illness I am recovering from, and should not be out of bed. Piroska,” it took me a moment to realize he was speaking to one of his daughters. “Go find Helene, and make sure she stays where she should.”

Piroska, who looked a little older than her sister, and revealed herself to be as tall as her father and brother when she stood, how I did not notice this earlier is, I fear, easily explained. “Yes...father,” she curtsied to the both of us. Her voice was as clear and lovely as her cousin’s. “I am sure we will be properly introduced later, Mr. Harker.” Then she left through the door.

The Prince chuckled. “She is right, I am remiss in your style of manners. All here know us after all, introductions shall be a habit I must get used to. That was Piroska, she is Mircea’s twin, and this is Hajnalka, my youngest daughter and most ardent nursemaid.”

Hajnalka set down her stitching to curtsy as well, her eyes downcast in a becoming manner. “It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.” Resuming her work she spoke again. “Please sit, papa, otherwise I shall worry.”

His laughter was much deeper this time. “See, it is as I said. Now we shall both indulge her, yes? For I wish the unpleasant work of business done with so we may move onto more interesting topics."

I gave a brief bow in agreement, then went back to my room to fetch the papers and plans.

The Prince gestured to me to sit next to him, and with that we got down to the particulars.

He is a sharp and curious man, asking such questions that even I had trouble answering them sometimes, though he took this in good stride thankfully. He at least was pleased that both properties were older. “Much like home,” he joked.

“Ah, look at us, still chattering away like magpies, you must be thirsty, and hungry.” Before I could say otherwise, though I was finding both these states to be true, the Prince stood and left the library with surprising speed for his age.

Perhaps it was heedless of me, but I found my attention turning to Lady Hajnalka. “With his health would it not be easier to have bells to call for servants?”

She looked up from her book, laughing softly. “The walls in most places are nearly a meter thick, sir, it would take a keen ear to hear such things. It does us no trouble to go down to the kitchen ourselves, and the walk will do him some good.”

“And with locked doors, it makes it even more difficult still,” I found myself pressing.

She lowered her eyes again. “We must apologize for that, it is our habit now, for privacy and safety. I shall remind Mircea when he returns and he shall set it right for you, so that you may wander to your content. Though we must needs some doors remained locked, for some rooms are...dare elect?”

I suggested she might mean derelict, even spelling it out for her. It was quite sweet to see her finger trace the letters onto her page as I did so, her nails are like her brother’s last night; so it must be some affectation of the nobles here.

“Yes, that is the word. We do not wish for you to come to harm here.”

I thanked her, and asked after her father, curious to know more about him and what he was like.

“Papa is a bit like an...old tiger, but still like the poem, yes? ‘On what wings dare he aspire?/What the hand, dare seize the fire?/ And what shoulder, and what art/ Could twist the sinews of thy heart?’ He cares for us all greatly, and wishes the best for us.”

“You recite well.” I certainly had not expected something so British as Blake to make an appearance here in Transylvania, though that could only speak to the quality of the library.

“There is not much else to do here,” she responded, her red lips pouting. “We read, and sew, and I am not half as good at chess as Helene or Piri are. Even with the post, getting new material is difficult,” I had noticed that all the magazines and newspapers were over a year old. “So by now we have memorized most everything there is.”

Curious, I asked her what she was reading now, though perhaps I should have said re-reading, if her statement was true.

“Titus Andronicus,” she answered plainly.

I did not have the chance of protesting such a sweet young girl reading such a bloodbath, even if it is Shakespeare, for the Prince returned. Setting a pot of coffee and a dish of fruit in front of me. “Eat, drink, do not mind us. Now to finish business so you may send it off to be finished, then we shall speak of England and English, yes, so we may better learn.”

“Your English is already so very good,” I did not see it as flattery, but the truth.

“It is kind of you to say so, but we still speak as a foreigner would, and as we hope to be in England for a good while we wish to speak as the locals would, so they do not think us strange and only visiting.”

A sound enough thought. I let the Prince draw me back into the work, and after we finished it I recounted tales of my days as a clerk in London, if edited some even if Lady Hajnalka read the likes of Titus.

The door opened, and the sound of a throat clearing broke our talk. Looking over I saw Lady Piroska standing there. “It is late, you all should be abed,” there was a strangeness to her tone, as if she might be suggesting something wholly different.

Still, when I looked to the window it was to see it almost dawn again. It seems it will not be hard for myself to pass the time here, for all their solitude the Dănești are lovely conversationalists, if strange.

I was ushered to my room, and I have written all down as I best remembered. Now I shall try to sleep.


	11. Harker's Journal, cont; 8, May

_8, May_ —As the days pass things seem to have grown stranger and stranger, and today was strangest of all. At this point I half expect something unusual as a regular occurrence. But to the start.

I awoke to find it late in the day again. While I am somewhat used to the hours from when I accompanied you, Mina, to some of Miss Westenra’s parties, even those had ended well before sunrise. At this rate my time amongst the Prince and his family will have turned me into an owl or bat perhaps, rising with the setting sun and turning in as it rises again.

Once more there was food and coffee waiting for me, and I ate heartily because I was quite famished.

Afterwards I still had not seen sign of the Prince, or his family, and went into the library.

To find Helene there, sitting by the fire. Her hair was done in a Grecian style today, and the shawl on her shoulders undone. Oh, again! That feeling claws at me, for I should have looked away, but only stared at the trim figure she presented.

She smiled, greatly pleased. “You must beware, dear Jonathan.” Proof that I am not of sound mind with her, for I cared not that she was as familiar with me as you might be, Mina. “He will take you from me, from everything you would call familiar and into his own world! It will seem sweet at first, ah but you are resistant to such things I think, but he will drain you dry like the rest, for that is all he knows of love.”

She stood and went to me, grasping my hands with my own, they were as icy cold as the rest of her family. For a moment I felt as if I were drowning in the ocean of her eyes, before she let me go and glided past me with grace rivaling the greatest dancers, and behind a bookcase, where there was no door. Hearing a soft shushing I made to follow, but found where she had gone empty! There must be a secret passage of sorts.

Realizing I must have made an utter fool of myself with her, for I had not spoken and must look a fright, and thinking the Prince or some other family member might be around soon I returned to my room to shave. For even with all this strangeness, I wished to acquit myself well to them.

Hanging the mirror up by the window for the best light I stripped down to my shirt and wet the blade in the bowl of water next to me before putting it to my skin.

Perhaps I should have been more attentive to the mirror, and not both it and the window, for behind me came Sir Dănești’s voice. “Good evening, Mr. Harker.”

It so surprised me that I gave a great start, and I could feel the razor bite into my skin, though I felt no pain. Glancing in the mirror I felt another start for I could see no one in the room but myself!

Turning however I saw Sir Dănești, standing behind me and looking quite apologetic. “I did not mean to startle you…” He seemed as if to continue, before falling quiet. His gaze growing dark as it landed on my throat; now I could feel the sting of the cut, and feel blood slipping free.

Sir Dănești stepped closer, and despite us being of a height I felt strangely trapped. He licked his thumb and reached out, cleaning the wound as a mother might. “Careful, Mr. Harker,” his voice seemed deeper than before, and strange in a way I could not name. “Blood is too precious a thing to waste in this country.” For a moment I feared he would press even closer, moreso when his gaze rose to my mouth. “Finish preparing yourself, and we shall walk.” He turned and left, leaving me to sag against the stones and shudder.

I took more care in my shaving than before, and put a plaster on the cut, before dressing and stepping out.

Sir Dănești was waiting, a candelabra in hand. He smiled at me and gestured towards the door we had first entered these rooms. “I hope you will forgive the multitude of candles you shall see, while this electricity might be all about England, I fear it will not deign to come to this land for quite some time yet.”

The door opened at my touch, much to my relief and we went through, climbing the stairs again until we reached the next floor. He opened another iron shod door, and we stepped into a long hall, windows on one side, which let in the dying sunlight, and paintings on the other.

“My father,” he smiled. “Thought you might be interested in our family history. Though I fear I also must apologize for Hajni shocking you so.” Which also seemed to amuse him. “Ah, I can see you wish to protest in your eye, but do not. It is a good lesson for us all, that you English are so easily embarrassed when it comes to women.” He laughed heartily. “Do not fear for her poor mind, we were all raised on tales far worse than the one Shakespeare wrote of.”

Like a shot he strode down the portrait hall, and I rushed to catch up. “Such as hers.” He raised up the candelabra, though there was still enough sunlight to clearly make out the picture: a blonde woman reclining on a chaise, a gold and diamond brooch at her breast.

It should not surprise me that she looks so much like the Prince’s niece, Helene. It is the habit of royalty to marry only each other after all, and beauty like this was perhaps preferable to a Hapsburg chin.

“She came to the castle with my many-times great grandfather, as his lover, after they had met in the court of Corvinus. For a time, it’s said they were happy, yet while she loved him, he did not love her as she wished. So to punish him she took another lover. Ah, you blush again, dear Harker.

“When the then Prince found out he grew wrothful at the slight, at being punished for what he had not promised her. Yet he knew better than to rush up and kill them both. It would only tar him with a far worse brush than he already had been, as the Saxons had our distant cousin. So instead he boarded them up in her chambers, such an elegant trap.”

As horrified as I was by the story, I still frowned. “How so?” Yet I was almost afraid to know, to understand what these long past people had learned. If Sir Dănești was right about these being their childhood bedtime stories, no wonder Lady Hajnalka read Titus with nary a blink.

“For a time it would have been heaven for the lovers, for they had only each other, and the Prince made sure they were fed, for he did not want them dead. Two weeks passed, then one morning the servants came to deliver the food, to find the young man begging to be let out, injuring one of the servants as he tried to grab at them. His begging and pleading went unheard, for the Prince did not want him released. Over the next three days the man continued to plead, to no avail. On the fifth day there was only silence. It was then that the Prince had the door opened. His former lover slept soundly in the bed, and as for her own lover? Well, one had only to step out into the courtyard to find his body, brains dashed across the cobblestones.”

Perhaps if I had chosen criminal law I would be inured to such terrible things, but I could only shudder, then and now, at the horrors of humanity at its most base.

“What became of her?” The trembling in my voice displeased me, but what other reaction could I have to such a tale?

Sir Dănești shrugged. “She left the castle for a time, seeking more biddable lovers, I’m sure. She did return, however, for while the world held many she could twist around her finger, she was far more safe here than elsewhere.” He turned to me, the flickering candle light, and the dying sun, making his face twist and contort in ghastly ways.

“But we have not come here only so I may disturb your sensibilities, come. Let me tell you of the our history, of our proud people.” Now there was only candle light in the portrait hall, which made all the faces shift and dance, yet as Sir Dănești began to speak, all I could do was listen. For his voice was pleasing, and he spoke with such animation as he told me how his family could trace itself back to the Huns, how they stood proud against Austrian and Turk alike, and how both branches of his family tree gained the appellation ‘Dracula,’ which I will try to write here:

“It originally came from the Order of the Dragon, who’d sworn never to let the Turks take over our good Christian lands, ha! How well that worked for them. It’s most famous bearer perhaps did not do half as much as his enemies claimed, but he was devilishly clever, and snatched victory from the jaws of defeat so often that it is no wonder they called him such, for it is devil and dragon both. The many-times great grandfather soon gained it himself as well. Perhaps he was not so well known, but he was cunning, and knew well the clarity that brought the necessary answer, though many would call it ruthlessness.

“So we became Draculas, the fiendish dragons that guarded this land; it’s heart, and brain, and sword. Perhaps we are not so sprawling a tree as the Hapsburgs, or the Romanoffs, but we have endured Turk and Austrian and Khan, alike, and will continue to endure. Being the Draculas our people need to remain as they wish.”

There was more, but it is even still all a rush in my head, so I fear to recount it wrong, or falsely.

Eventually we retired from the portrait hall, though Sir Dănești encouraged me to come back some time during the day, so I might better appreciate the art, to the library. Where there was food waiting for us. Sir Dănești encouraged me to eat, saying he had already supped with his father and sisters. “And while you eat I shall look these over, yes?” He gestured at the papers I and his father had done the other night. “For it is good for an heir to know what agreements and debts he will come into, and my father is old, though still clever of mind and tongue.”

This seemed reasonable, so I did not protest. Sir Dănești did not ask as many questions as his father, and seemed pleased with my work. When he finished he smiled at me, dark eyes glittering. “All is in order, then. Tomorrow I shall send it all off with my other letters, so that it will all be done by the time we arrive.”

I was greatly taken aback. “I should return with them,” I protested. “I do not wish to be too much trouble.”

“Ah, your Mr. Hawkins was too right as to your character. It is no imposition at all! I only beg a few more weeks of your company, you are fair pleasing to be around, and it will better prepare all of us for London, yes? If it is missing work that you fear, then I shall write to Mr. Hawkins myself also, tell him that the blame is solely mine and you are innocent in all this.”

What else could I do but demure? He smiled again, and clapped me on the back. “Good man. We shall write all of this tomorrow, tonight it is late, and you should be abed.” With this he ushered me to my room.

Now I have written all, and I truly must try to sleep, though I fear what my dreams might bring.


	12. Letters, Harker's Journal cont.; 9, May

Dearest Lucy,

I hope you forgive me my delay in writing back. Work and worry take up most of my time, the former holding back the latter. And school is more trying now, for it’s spring and that seems to send all the girls into a tizzy. Soon though I will be with you at your Uncle Morton’s in Whitby, where we may speak freely and be girls again, and you can keep me from working too furiously.

For in a way I shall still be working when I join you, as I have decided to keep a journal of our time. So that I might better know our shorthand and transcribe it more quickly for Jonathan when he needs it be done.

Ah! Yes, yes, you should have heard the news from me and not Kate, but it happened so quickly and then Mr. Hawkins sent him off only a breath later for some assignment, and so the worry. I received a postcard from him sent from Vienna the other day, and the skyline in the picture almost takes my breath away to see. For what other strange and new sights has he looked upon since writing that? I hope to see it with my own eyes some day, if only we were Croseus and could spend all our days traveling the world in high style and see all the wonders that could be seen.

Such fantasies, when I should content myself with what I have now. I am sure we shall be married soon after Jonathan’s return, and I needs must prepare for that.

We must speak of such things later however! For that was the ten bell, and now I shall have to rush to post this before I start my class.

Yrs.

Mina

I hope you will speak of yourself in your next letter, Kate has been abuzz over one of your suitors above all. And I wish to hear it in your own words.

* * *

17, Chatham Street

My dearest Mina,

I feel I should chastise you for being such a poor friend, for the letter you sent me is only your first, when I have written _twice_ already. And Katie has already visited me thrice, so it is clear who among the three of us is a good friend. You could visit too, Mina, across London is not such a distance, though to hear my mother speak of it it would be like traveling to St. Petersburg. You visiting would do us both much good, for it would distract you from your worry, and give me company during the long days while I am stuck in the house. I do not know why mother worries so, the school was perfectly safe, but she reads so many newspapers that I fear it’s gotten into her brain, all their talk of rising crime and death.

There is nothing new to speak of for myself, not really, not when you have been engaged and are to marry! I might have three men a-courting me, but it is not so great a thing, really. But Hampstead is well enough, when mamma does let me out I go to the picture galleries, or out on walks in the park.

But since you have asked, the one Katie has taken a liking to for me is Mr. Holmwood, who took me to the Pop the other day, and is handsome enough with curly hair. While I do love dear Kate, I shall clearly have to keep my eye on her in the future, and give her a kiss for me, yes? Perhaps remind her that while she may gossip about all the other girls as much as she wishes, yet between us all must be discreet.

Mr. Holmwood visits often, his sister, Mary, accompanying, and he and mamma talk quite a lot about various things. You will forgive me for being jealous of that, yes, Mina? That mamma may talk so freely, while I and Mary must be like mute animals in regards to many subjects, sitting by, and smiling as if all pleases. I think she is better suited to it than I, but I do not hate her for it. And while at first it was exciting to hear her about her interest in the assistant to Prince Koromezzo, it is all that she speaks about and I am now greatly tired of it.

During our last ‘conversation’ I _blushed_ when I had no reason too! As if I were a child again! But mamma says it is not good to show one’s brain before one is married. Which I do not believe a whit, for you never hid your brain and yet now Jonathan is yours.

So I shall have to do my best, and perhaps revealing that all is not what it seems will make me appear more mysterious, which will only do me good, yes?

As for the other two, mamma has invited Dr. Seward often as well. Though I do not think as to why, for he says he is a doctor of the mind, and runs his own asylum; so what he might know of hearts such as mamma's is beyond me. Perhaps she feels he will cure my sleepwalking, though I have not suffered as such for well over a year now. He has a strange habit of looking one directly in the face, as if he is trying to read your mind like some Spiritualists claim to be able to do.

Perhaps he can, and he sees that my butterfly nature is something of an act. If he does, he’s made no mention of it, so I must be a tougher nut to crack than most. Which pleases me greatly.

Holmwood is charming, Seward is serious, and Mr. Morris is quite kind. I find I wish I could have seen them when they were out on one of their adventures, what a trio they would have presented. Of the three he doesn’t visit often, most recently because he took a trip to the continent; and when he does I find I am not sure if he wishes my hand, or only my friendship. Despite his friendship with Holmwood, and Seward I do not think he knows many people here. Perhaps that is part of the American nature, to keep more to oneself, or perhaps his skin presents something of a barrier? Though I don’t see how this could be, he’s not quite half as dark as Kate and she does well enough for herself.

Being inside all the time means I fear I have lost some of my eye for fashion, though I think I am losing interest in it wholesale, for even when I am out I take little interest. That is not so strange, is it? Perhaps it all is starting to become a bore to me.

Mamma would be horrified at such slang, though I don’t see what the problem is. Arthur says it near every day, and Mr. Morris’ Americanisms are far more colorful. Arthur? Oh! I do not deny, Mina, that now a part of me wishes to rewrite this letter, so that my slip will go unknown.

Yet we have shared everything since we first met, and to keep secrets now feels like the greatest of betrayals. So yes, _Arthur_ , Mr. Holmwood. I feel as if I love him, and I hope he loves me, even if he does not know all! He must, right? Even if he has not said as such, for to visit as often as he does, and to talk with mamma so, he must feel _some_ sort of interest.

Is this how you feel with Jonathan? As if the word ‘love’ is too small a thing to encompass all that one feels? 

Come visit, Mina! I feel it will be so much easier to say this as we once did, sitting next to the fire and speaking all, without a thought to what others might think.

Mamma knocks, for it is time for sleep. A most dreadful thing when one cannot, but I shall finish this and mail it off.

Lucy

P.S. I am sure I don’t need to tell you this is a secret, Mina, but I shall do so anyways, for my own peace of mind.

* * *

Harker’s Journal, cont.

 _9, May_ —After all that has occurred in the past week, today almost felt banal. Not that there was little of interest, but what did occur felt more like minor foibles and quirks, rather than some looming ominous occurrence. Ha, even my writing seems to have become more overwrought as of late, so I shall do my best to be less verbose.

After breakfast I stepped into the library to find Sir Dănești and Lady Piroska already there, her working on some needlepoint, him writing letters. He looked up at my arrival and smiled broadly. “Good afternoon to you, friend Jonathan. I have paper and quill should you need it for your own letters.” No wonder Prince Dracula’s letter was so spidery, if they do not even have pens here.

I thanked him, but told him I have my own pen and showed it to him, even Lady Piroska was fascinated. “Yes, that does much nicer than a quill,” she agreed. “Your papers and books have done us no favors there, keeping such a thing from us.” She hardly sounded put out by this, but I suppose a pen is so common a thing that no one _would_ seek to write of it.

Though I still felt some nervousness, I sat and began writing my own letters. Hoping I sounded convincing when I said that I had agreed to stay for a few more weeks, to help the Prince and his family. Finishing the letter to Mr. Hawkins I handed it over, Sir Dănești adding it to the already quite large pile of letters. Then began wondering what I should write of to you, darling Mina. For I did not wish to leave you wondering.

It perhaps felt more forced, but I did tell you that I felt comfortable here, and that the Prince and his family were wonderfully curious, and that I felt I couldn’t refuse their offer to stay a few more weeks, though I knew that would make you worry. Sealing it away I handed it over, though it felt far more intimate a letter to do so.

Sir Dănești glanced over the address as he had Mr. Hawkins, making a curious sound. “Who is this Miss Murray you write to?”

I could feel some heat rising in my cheeks as I told him about you, for this is the first time I have told someone of you as my fiancée. They were both most curious and in turn I was made to go get the photograph I have of you.

“So much better than a painting or sketch! We must try to have one done of us while we are in London, yes Mircea?” Lady Piroska was most insistent.

“Perhaps,” was the only agreement he gave. “She is a lovely woman, though I have heard of such from the British before, so it does not surprise. Many blessings to your marriage.” He inclined his head in a manner I found odd, as if giving the field. “Excuse me for a moment.” He then left.

Lady Piroska laughed softly, and I looked at her in askance. She smiled. “Oh, pay me no mind, it is only just Mircea’s mind is perhaps too full and it is amusing to see him jump from part to part. Felicitations on your wedding.”

It felt good to stand, and I did not think she would find me rude if I walked around some as well. There was an atlas at the other end of the table, open to England as one might expect. There were notes in what had to be Romanian in the oceans, as good a place to put them as any, and both London and Dover were circled. As I returned to my seat, I glanced over the pile of letters, managing to catch some of the names: a Samuel Billington in Dover, Herr Leutner’s Shipping in Varna, Coutts & Co. bank in London, and Klopstock & Billreuth in Budapest. There were more besides, but I could not make them out without scattering the pile, which I was sure Lady Piroska would protest.

I had not yet returned to my seat when Sir Dănești returned, clearly carrying something in his closed fist. Coming to stand next to me he opened it to reveal a handsome ruby and gold ring, perhaps a bit heavy, but the dark gem curiously had a dragon carved onto it, which had been done in quite fine detail. “For you,” he offered.

My eyes widened, and I immediately protested. For such a thing seemed almost too much.

“Nonsense,” Sir Dănești waved away my concerns. “It is thanks, for indulging us our particulars, and agreeing to stay when I am sure you only wish to rush back to your intended’s arms, yes?” His cool hand snatched one of my own and set the ring in my palm, curling my fingers over it. “It will bring you much wealth and joy, as all rubies are wont to do, and keep you hale and hearty too. I shall hope you wear it often. Now, there is supper for you in the dining hall should you desire it. Feel no bother on our part, I will eat later when I am all finished with these letters.”

Lady Prioska stood to join me. “I am not hungry, but I should go out and check on father.”

Still quite pole-axed by the ring I still managed to have enough sense to offer her my arm. She gave me a warm smile and took it. Though I felt somewhat the fool as we walked, for her grace made me feel clumsy.

Giving my arm a squeeze she stepped away from me once we were in the dining hall. “Be well, Mr. Harker, and wear the ring, I think it suits you.”

I am indeed wearing it now as I write. It is not half as heavy as I feared, and the ruby does seem to glow with some inner light, as if the dragon might breath fire at any moment. 


	13. Harker's Journal, cont; 10, May

_10, May—_ Turning in early last night meant an early morning, seemingly a wholly new experience. I find I’ve grown used to seeing neither hide nor hair of the servants, not even a whisper; as if they have some sort of fairytale magic about them.

There was a note on the table from the Prince, which says they would be busy until late in the afternoon. So I decided that I would finally explore the castle as much as I am able.

I found myself in the library first, to see that the pile of letters was now gone as well as to check where Helene had vanished yesterday, yet as diligently as I searched, I could find no manner by which a secret door might be opened.

The only other door leading off of the dining room was locked, so I descended the stairs all the way to the entrance hall, which seemed much more open in the daytime, and had many doors leading to various parts of the castle.

Yet to a one they were all locked! Lady Hajnalka had said the derelict portions of the castle would still be locked off, but I can’t believe that the whole of the ground floor is abandoned. All the servants must walk around with rings of keys, and it must take a dog’s age for them to get anywhere.

Frustrated I ascended, all the way up to the portrait gallery. The faces of Dănești ancestors past were less harsh during the day time, but I did get the queer feeling that all were watching me. The painting at the end of the hall was the most guilty of this of course, and I did my best to ignore her enticement as I looked around.

Ah! Finally, open doors!

I took the one at the far end of the gallery first. Finding a rounded tower room, with windows that showed a lovely view of the west, I could even spot the river I could sometimes hear from my room, perhaps I’ll come here at some later date to watch the sunset. Besides the door I came in through there was only one other, and to my relief it was unlocked.

Traveling through these rooms was a disappointment however, they’d clearly long since been abandoned, and there was little more than old furniture, and another locked door at the very end of the wing. Intent on finding more than this I returned to the portrait hall, and the second door, which was next to the first one I’d come in through.

I came into another long hall, though this one was so caked with dust as to seem more ancient than anything else. I found myself wishing for a candle, for the three windows were caked with grime and dust and so barely let in any light. Dust rose up in plumes as I walked, and I did my best not to breath it in as I looked around. My footsteps did reveal that the floor below me was patterned, in gray and white. Curious I found myself going to the wall across from the windows, the strange shapes intriguing.

Deciding I could spare the coat I ran my forearm across the surface, in the hopes it would reveal what was underneath.

Mirrors! The first I’ve yet seen here besides my own. Yet it is clear no one here uses them. Perhaps this was a ballroom of a sorts, and with company gone away it’d fallen to seed.

Another door, and traveling through it I found another hall of rooms, there were some locked doors, but the ones unlocked were full of more old furniture of a more delicate style, ladies chambers? The windows here are larger than ones I’ve seen on lower floors, and they’d be well out of range for attack here.

Soon I found another door, and I grew frustrated again, for when I tried it, it wouldn’t budge. By touch I figured out that the door couldn’t be locked and so tried again with more force.

Yet another abandoned corridor, and loopholes that let in good light and fresh air. Peering through one I could see a ravine where the river became a waterfall. It was an arresting sight, but my desire to explore pulled me away.

More and more locked doors, but there was also another tightly spiraled staircase, this one only leading down.

It ended at another corridor, and as I went through it’s dilapidated length a creeping thought began to form in my mind: that there were no servants here at all, for if there were the castle would not be in as much disrepair as it was. I’ve become all turned about, so I was not quite sure where I was, only that this place looked more intended for siege and defense than elsewhere.

At the end of the corridor there was an iron door, with the key still in the lock, which protested greatly when I tried to turn it. It eventually gave in and the door opened, revealing a cellar like room with thick chains. Much to my surprise there were a narrow set of stairs leading up to one of the windows. 

I couldn’t see much to the left or right, but I could still see the ravine I’d noticed on the eastern side, and a drawbridge that would span it if it were down. So that is the purpose of the chains then, and looking around the room with that fresh knowledge I could see the necessary machinery for the task.

There had to be another door around, for I doubted whomever might want to use the bridge would come down here by the same path I did, for it would take too long.

Eventually I spotted the door, which was much smaller than I expected one to be, so overlooking it was not difficult.

The handle seemed almost nostalgic for me, for it was quite like many in England, and no lock besides. I could press down the handle easily, but the door itself was heavy and took a great push to open.

Foul air wafted up to greet me and my stomach turned, almost making me regret my decision to keep exploring.

Steeling myself I continued, though carefully, for this stairwell was the darkest yet, making me feel I was in a well and not a staircase. Without light I did my best to instead count the stairs. I had reached about fifty when the hair on the back of my neck stood up all at once.

I strained all my senses, but I could hear nothing, and certainly not see anything; yet I still believed there was something behind me. Unable to stand it I turned as best I could, putting my back to the wall and a foot on the next step.

As if that were some signal I was attacked!

I was so caught off guard I could barely defend myself, thin fingers that felt impossibly strong, curled around my throat and began to strangle me, a head pressing closer as if to bite me. I grabbed slim arms but no matter how I pushed or shoved I could not dislodge them.

A catlike hiss broke the silence of our struggle, and the hands that had been strangling me moved to push me. Sending me tumbling down the stairs…

  
  


I did eventually come to, though I should hope that since I am with you as you read this, Mina, there is no doubt, but I had no concept of how much time had passed. Or exactly where I was.

There was a bit more light here, and behind me I could make out the stairway which I had fallen, still wreathed in foreboding darkness.

I let myself lay there on the soft dirt a little longer, my brain wrestling with what had just happened. Had I only slipped and fallen, hallucinating the attack?

My hands moved to my throat, feeling tender skin, and the torn fabric of my necktie.

Then who had attacked me?

The fingers had been slim, and the arms I’d tried to push away delicate for such strength. One of the Ladies? No, no woman could be that strong, and none of them had suggested an inclination towards murder.

A more pressing thought interrupted that thinking: for if I wished to return to my rooms I needs must go up those same stairs again. For a moment panic clawed at my throat, making me feel as a trapped animal might. Yet logic prevailed, for there had to be another way back. Finding a wall I pulled myself up and began limping down the hallway.

It ended in a large, windowless vault. Yet light shone through another door and I gladly went towards it.

This one had windows, though they were small and high up, and it was frightfully cold, so I must have been perhaps deep underground by this point.

A breeze came in through the window, which was pleasant, but only for the briefest of seconds before it brought with it such a stench that I almost gave up my breakfast. Looking around soon revealed the source.

At first I thought it was a food cellar long forgotten, the stockpile of food gone to rot. If that were the case then there had to be stairs upwards towards the kitchen, and I soon found a hatch on the wall. Managing it open I once again got a whisper of fresh air before the rank air returned, and with more light I could better see what was around me, though it might be a choice I come to regret. Especially when a skull rolled down to land at my feet!

Nearly tripping over myself to get away from it, I felt horror well up at me as it leered up at me with ghoulish eyes. It’s face long and misshapen, more like some goblin or ogre than human. A thought that in fact calmed me enough to look at it more closely. To my relief I discovered it was the skull of a horse, not a human.

With the light now available to me I could see there was a door on the other side of the room, though I would have to walk on the bones to reach it.

I did it, as distasteful as it was. Some bones were old and crumbled at my weight, others were clearly fresh and sought to trip me up; I could not identify every animal, but there were some with horns that had to be cows, sheep, and goats.

Reaching the door I hesitated for the first time, for I was not sure I wanted to know what sort of fresh horror might be beyond it.

Yet if I had survived everything else so far then I could not let myself become a coward now. Opening the door I stepped through, bracing myself for the worst.

After everything, to find myself in a chapel was almost a relief. A sign of humanity when I felt I’d gone long without.

It was not a large room, and there were no longer any pews or altar, only a kneeler in front of the crucifix and the elaborate rose window that seemed almost out of place. It appeared to depict the Last Judgement, but most heartening of all to my spirits were the fanciful colors it painted on the floor. Closing my eyes I tilted my face up to it, relishing the feel of the light on my face.

I turned my head as I opened my eyes, spotting a stairwell leading upwards, and writing smeared across the wall in some unknown paint. I could make out that the letters were Greek, but they made no words that I could understand, or attempt to translate.

Shockingly, I heard footsteps coming from my right, a quick glance showed me there was a door there.

Discovering I did not want to be found, even though I’d been given permission to wander, I rushed up the stairs, finding myself on a balcony that overlooked the chapel. Which was high enough that it put me level with the face of Jesus on the cross. To my discomfort I discovered his eyes appeared to have been clawed out.

The door across from my hiding spot opened, and I saw Lady Piroska enter, dressed like a peasant might be, and carrying a bucket. I could only just hear her grumbling to herself, but the language was unknown to me so I could not know what she was unhappy about. She disappeared under the lip of the balcony and soon I heard the sounds of scrubbing.

Why was she doing such a task herself? Were there really no servants? Or was it some sort of penance?

As much as I wanted to ask, I instead crept towards another staircase leading up, deciding not to disturb her. More sunlight touched me and I was gladened by it as I climbed up the stairs. Only to reach another door at the top, with a groan I sat on the steps, leaning my head against the cool stone. With my luck it would be as locked as the others and I would have to go back down, Lady Piroska was not the worst companion, from what few conversations we had had. Perhaps she would be willing to give me a guided tour, then at least I would not be half as lost as I was.

Resigning myself to at least trying, I stood and attempted the door. It opened! And what filled me must be the same feeling any sailor adrift and alone feels when they spy a ship at long last.

I found myself in a hall with wooden floors, the walls covered in tapestries and more furniture scattered about, I believe I even spotted a piano-forte tucked away in the corner. The sound of my footsteps against the wood as I crossed the floor was strangely comforting, reminding me of being at home or work. I came to a stop in front of the two doors on the other side and contemplated them.

At this point I was thoroughly lost, having no idea if I was even on the floor I wished to be, for now I would welcome my bedroom or the library when they had once felt confining.

The door on the right was slightly ajar, so I chose that one first.

It must have been another room in one of the corner towers, for the walls were rounded and the doorway I stood in was the only one in or out. The windows where covered with iron grating, and there was golden yellow piles scattered about the stone floor.

For a moment I took them to be wheat, though this was a strange grainery, but the sunlight shifted and the piles began to glitter.

Gold! So much as I could not quite believe it myself! Picking a few up I brought them close to inspect. I did not know all of them, but I did recognize the Roman coinage, so the age of the collection must be staggering as well. I put the coins back and wandered down the narrow path through the gold, coming around one pile I gasped again, for I found chests overflowing with gemstones and pearls. It’s no wonder he thought so lightly of the ring, for if he is this rich it is only a pittance.

A half-derelict castle and such vast treasure, all to reasonable then that the Prince and his family keep the doors locked tight! They must fear thieves when they are not around. If I were such a cad I would have already long given up, from what all I had already encountered.

Returning to the other room I tried the left door, which also opened at my touch.

It was another bedroom, thankfully empty of an occupant. Out of all the rooms I had seen so far it looked the most lived in besides my own. It smelt sweetly of herbs, a scent that grew as I stepped inside, looking down I saw rosemary and lavender scattered about the stone floor and bear skins. A four poster bed, far grander than my own was on my right, and I found myself with the urge to strip off my foul clothes and curl up in the thick blankets and sleep for an age.

I turned my head away to resist. Though the iron tub I spotted next was just as tempting.

Easier to resist, for there were no fixtures, only a bucket, and the thought of having to find the kitchen to heat the water, only to drag it back up was infinitely tiring. There was a chest of drawers next to it, atop of which was a bar of soap, a comb, a pot of salt, and a box of cloves. I didn’t know what to make of them, especially with no mirror in sight again, so leaving them be I peered through another open door into the next room.

Clearly I’d found a study of some sort, and stepping inside I found a multitude of books, though unlike the library there was no English here. There were papers scattered about the desk, and I recognized the handwriting of the Prince, or perhaps Sir Dănești. As the Prince seemed to be bedridden most days then it reasoned these were the rooms of Sir Dănești himself. The idea of which discomfited in a strange way.

Returning to the bedroom I tried the other door, pleased beyond belief when it opened and I discovered the dining room! I knew it had only been hours, but it felt like an age had passed since I was last here. Staggering I returned to my own rooms and threw myself onto the bed, uncaring of my filthy clothes, and groaning in relief. The only place better would have been in your arms, Mina!

Eventually though I could not stand my state and got up. Cleaning myself as best I could I inspected my neck in the mirror. The bruises are livid and shocking, though putting on a fresh necktie I could cover them up for the most part.

After, I picked up my journal and have written all as best as I can recall, but even doing that seems unreal.

_Minutes later_ —As if to test myself I returned to the dining room and tried the door that led to Sir Dănești’s rooms again, only to find it now locked. Perhaps he has returned and has locked it for his privacy. Much to my surprise there was fresh food on the table again as well! Which had certainly not been there moments before.

I have returned to my room now for the time, expecting Sir Dănești to call me out soon. More and more I feel as if I’ve wandered into some strange tale and not reality. And I fear what might become of me.


	14. Harker's Journal, cont; 12, May

_12, May_ —I will not say that staying at the castle has taken on the air of a holiday, for I have experienced too much unpleasantness for it to be so. Though these past few days have been a welcome relief after my, possibly, ill-advised exploration.

I have spent most of them talking, and playing chess. Which I am not the best at, but Sir Dănești and Lady Hajnalka perhaps take pity on me. Lady Piroska does not, but she and I have not played together since yesterday. That I have not seen Helene or Prince Dănești is explained by them being ill, although I am not sure how much I believe this. For again and again I am shown that things here are not all that they seem, certainly nothing like what I’m used to in England.

We talk mostly of England, no great surprise, though I have gotten them to speak of their home and history some as well. If in less gruesome detail than in the portrait gallery.

It is shocking to think only four days have passed since I wrote to you Mina, though you won’t have likely received it yet. In a way time here seems to have lost meaning, and only by writing in this journal am I able to keep track of the days, though even that is imperfect.

The past few nights before I’ve gone to bed, I’ve gone back up to the tower to admire the landscape, although at times it is too dark to truly make much out. I dragged a chaise from the wing into the tower room, and managed to find some pillows that were not too badly moth-eaten to make it more comfortable. Tonight there were no clouds to cover the moon, bathing all in almost butterly light. It made the world seem a soft and dreamlike thing, as if I’d stepped into a painting by some magic. Breathing deep of the cool, green, air I found fear and tension melt away, as if they’d never been.

Feeling much refreshed, I made my way back to my room. I encountered Sir Dănești in the portrait hall, though to my relief he did not seem angered by my exploration. He walked back with me, though he had no need to.

“It is good to see you out and enjoying the castle, my dear friend. Though I should warn you, this place is old, and has a long memory. I would not fall asleep anywhere but your rooms, for who knows what bad dreams might befall you if you did.”

Even now I shudder to write those words, so very much a threat. I am beginning to fear I may be trapped here, though how can one be certain?

I will ask about leaving next week, and hope Mr. Dănești will allow it.


	15. Letter, Harker's Journal cont; 15, May

Lucy,

I am sorry for being such a poor friend and not visiting, or even writing. It seems that without you or Jonathan here to lure me away, I am all too easily consumed by my work. Some day soon you must convince your mother to let you return here for a visit, perhaps you should bring your Mr. Holmwood so I might see for myself what sort of man he is.

I write to you now, because I have the sense to try and tell you of it before Kate can; we shall see how well the endeavor works with her visiting you often, and having delivered the letter in question to me.

Jonathan is well! If still in Transylvania.

So while I worry, for he has apparently promised to stay there a little longer, I at least know he is alive and well, if far from me. For now I will content myself with both, and hope I hear from him soon again. If not see him again with my own eyes.

He talks strangely of the Dăneștis, at least when one knows him as well as I do. They seem kind enough by his own words, and they clearly enjoy his company if they’ve insisted he stay longer; even if he says it is because they wish to understand England better. But there is perhaps something under those words that suggests there is more that he is not saying.

I do not doubt, but I do fear.

Perhaps when he is back with me and the Dănești are in London, he will introduce us, and I can ‘solve the case’ as Sherlock or Blake might.

Wouldn’t that be the treat, Lucy? To be introduced to royalty, even if they are not the Queen Mother or any other of ours. Although you seem to already be somewhat acquainted with the like. By Johnathan’s words the Dănești women he’s met seem the age of you and I, and I cannot imagine them not being won over by you as all others are; it is truly your greatest gift, dearest.

Hopefully this letter finds you well, and manages to offer some distraction from your woes, such as they are.

Mina

* * *

Harker’s journal, cont.

 _15, May_ —I awoke late in the night to find myself in my bed, still dressed and strangely terrified. The door opened, and I started to see Dănești in the door, his dark eyes glittering fiercely in the candle light. He told me to go back to sleep, that he had put me here after finding me elsewhere. I felt as if I’d drunk some sort of sleeping medicine and could work up no effort to gainsay him. Falling back asleep easily.

I am writing these words in the harsh light of morning, and as I recall what I believe to have happened last night. As terrible as it is I will recount it, and hope that I am sane in doing so. Perhaps I should have heeded Dănești’s words as warning not threat. For I do not know whether this was a dream, or reality.

As it grew later in the evening yesterday I felt an urge to go up and watch the sunset. None of the Dăneștis had appeared yet, so I did not feel a poor guest for doing so.

Reaching the tower room I threw open the windows again, breathing in the air as I lit a cigar. As the sun began to set it painted everything with a fiery light, somehow adding to the warmth of the air, as if it would storm soon.

The fire began to fade, leaving only dark purple ashes, and in the distance I could indeed hear a rumble of thunder.

Feeling languorous I dragged over the chaise, so that I could have my face in the window and still be seated.

As the last of the daylight faded away the storm broke. The rain fell in such a way that it did not reach me, but I still felt the exhilarating thrill of experiencing it. As if I might rush down to the courtyard and throw myself into it, let the rain soak me through and revitalize me.

Despite the exhilaration, I must have fallen asleep, all after feeling hazy and unreal. For it felt like the next time I opened my eyes I was not alone in the darkness of the room.

Lightning flashed and I saw Helene standing above me, her blue eyes and brooch seeming to still glitter after the flash had long died away. Even though I could no longer see her I was aware of her, every rustle of fabric and swish of movement. So that it might have been dark, but I knew she had moved to kneel next to me. “It shall be done that you will be mine alone, and he will cease this foolishness,” she murmured, the rain seeming to join with her voice.

She began to bend over me, so that the next flash had her face above mine, and I felt that she would kiss me with those perfect red lips, and give me something I could not even comprehend, then or now. Yet as she dipped her head lower, those lips moved not to mine, but lower still, to my throat. The skin there prickling and trembling under her breath and the anticipation of I know not what.

I heard her lick her lips, then those lips were upon me! They parted and I began to feel the press of teeth against my racing pulse.

It came upon me then, however, that we were not alone. Dănești stood there in the middle of the room, candle in hand and a rage the likes of which I never hope to see again upon his face.

He roared like a beast would, and grabbed at Helene, throwing her away from me; and I am ashamed at the sound of protest I made in response.

“How dare you! I promised to keep him safe from all and you would make a liar of me? I wish him to be mine and you would forbid it?”

A matching rage rose up in Helene, and all I could do was lie there, trembling as a rabbit might, hoping the wolves would fight each other and not find me. “Yours?” She laughed, though I hesitate to call it that, for never has laughter held such bitterness and rage. “Do you love him, then? Do you believe you can love?” Her voice was teasing, coquettish, and all the worse for it.

“I do not believe.” Dănești looked at me and I cannot describe what passed through me. “I know. You cling to your dark mirror, and call it love, but I have known the clearer one, and know it to be true.”

Helene shrieked, and seeming faster than possible she was on her feet and heading towards me. She did not get far though, for Lady Piroska was there, pulling her back with what had to be prodigious strength. “Mirrors? You speak of love as a mirror?” Helene laughed cruelly. “If it is so, then you can never be seen.” She did not fight as Lady Piroska began to pull her away.

“But I can see others.” He kept his gaze on me, even as he flung a hand. “Leave, and keep a better eye on her, Piri.”

We were alone.

I struggled to sit up, but then Dănești was there kneeling, setting the candle on the floor and casting us both in eerie light and shadow. “Lie down, Jonathan.”

Too easily I complied, my heart beginning to race anew when he placed his hand on my throat, thumb moving as if to sooth my rushing pulse. Some of his fingers shifted lower and I flinched away as he encountered my bruises.

Like the fading lightning outside, anger was there and gone on Dănești’s face. “So she has already made me a liar, and I cannot truly beg your forgiveness, for you know not.” He sighed and I watched, strangely unfrightened, as he echoed Helene’s earlier movements. I felt no press of lips this time, only his cool forehead against my throat.

“Your English poems and plays speak of love as something eternal, unchanging. Almost as Helene would have it.” I felt him inhale. “Yet I cannot believe it. Love is as all us creatures upon this earth: flowers and grass that bloom in the spring, only to fade away. Yet they return again, if not the same as before. So love does change and grow, and sometimes die.”

His words had a soporific effect on me, the world growing hazier as he...I could not quite conceive of what. Dănești pressed closer, until I could feel the shape of his lips through the fabric of my shirt and tie. “You must not let yourself feel bad for falling under her sway, dear Jonathan. Even as a child Helene enchanted greater men than even I, though perhaps she did not wish it.

“I will do my best to make sure she cannot harm you again, though she is old and strong. She would take you as I am tempted to, here and now.”

I struggled through the desire to sleep, wishing to speak, though no words came to my addled mind. I fear if they had, I still would not have been able to speak them. Dănești holding my throat and voice hostage with his hand.

As if he sensed this, he laughed. “Ah, but I find I wish to be cruel. For doing that to you now, as lovely a thought it is, would have you perhaps hating me until the end of days. Shall I be cruel, Johnathan? Be kind and courteous and charming as I hope I have been, until you happily throw away your morality and supposed English dignity? Even engaged as you are?” Another sigh, and there was the briefest of touches from his lips.

He pulled away, his hand releasing my throat to brush my hair away from my forehead. Then he stood and scooped me up easily. “Sleep, Jonathan.”

I am afraid I did.

_Later—_ I returned to the tower room, and my blood chills to contemplate that it was all real. Yet what else can I believe with the proof I have seen: the wax droplets on the floor, the disturbances in the dust that suggest dresses and struggling?

Oh, Mina! I should have never come.

I before feared what I might find in the castle, but now it is Dănești himself I truly fear. In England we well know what is good and right, and while we know we are not without sin we still declaim it as we should. And yet, and yet…

If it were not so terrifying a journey perhaps I would make my way back to the chapel to pray.

For as things remain, only God himself might be able to save me from these things now nested in my mind, and chest.


	16. Harker's Journal, cont; 21, May

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for animal sacrifice.

_21, May_ —I did it! Retracing my steps from over a week ago I returned to the chapel, only to find fresh horrors which will haunt me to my dying day.

Retracing my steps wasn’t half as dangerous as the first, for I encountered no one, and was far quicker with no need to spend time searching every room and hall. Even the charnel house of the cellar felt almost as nothing. Proof enough that what has occurred has changed me to the core.

Though I am a good Anglican man, I took the kneeler. The eyeless Jesus awful, yet seemingly benevolent.

I’m not sure how long I remained there, only that the light had moved the light of the window all the way to the wall, and that my knees ached quite fiercely.

It would be time for me soon to return, and hope that nothing of import happened. I eyed the stairwell, knowing it would be the fastest way up, but half-afraid I would run into Dănești in his rooms. Of what...what I might let him do to me.

A horror to admit, Mina, and I am all the sorrier for it. Even so I write it for you to know, because I wish to hold nothing back, even what must be the worst of me. I hope you forgive me, but if you do not, then I will let you go to find happiness elsewhere.

I did not take the stairs, though now I wish I had; and instead of returning the way I’d come, I tried the door that Lady Piroska had used to enter. It opened at my touch, the hinges silent for a change.

The hallway was clean, and if not well lit, I could still find my way easily enough. I followed it down, this time not bothering to check all the rooms I might find, only hoping for a stairwell that might lead me up. I didn’t even pause when I heard women’s voices behind a door that was warm to the touch; it barely even surprised that I recognized them as Dănești’s sisters.

I came to an empty tower room that had another closed door. It opened to my touch and to my surprise I was in a tack room, everything smelling of leather and oil. Pushing on, I found the stable, all the stalls empty save three, a realization that made me frown, for there had been four horses that brought me here.

Leaving the stables brought me into a courtyard, overgrown with ivy and climbing flowers of some sort. The drawbridge was still up, however, so I could not leave that way.

Though it had been locked before I still tried the main entrance, relieved when it did open, returning me to the entrance hall itself. Knowing my way now I began to make my way back up to my rooms, only to hear the sound of a woman chanting.

I should have continued on, but it was if a part of me knew it was Helene’s voice, and had to follow it instead.

It led me to a door, one that had been closed the second time I’d been here, with a staircase leading deeper into the bowels of the castle. Perhaps there was a part of me that was afraid, but I began to descend. For once again I had to not be in my right mind; Dănești’s words from that night about her echoing in my mind, and yet still I continued.

It stopped on a dirt floor, and now I could hear her quite clearly, as well as terrified screams. My heart tried to crawl into my throat as I crouched and slowly moved to the archway.

The stench hit me first, far worse than the cellar, as if it was a butcher’s shop long gone to rot. I shuddered, but still moved forward, reason lost to Helene.

Staring into the room I should have felt some relief over the fact the screams were not from a human, but the missing horse, whose eyes were white with fear as it struggled to escape the bonds holding it to the altar.

For there was an altar, as if the chapel above were only a ruse, and this the true church. And what a terrifying church. With it’s large braziers holding dancing flames, and the...the painting that covered most of the stone wall behind the altar.

I, I cannot truly describe it’s contents, for I am not sure my mind will allow me. But I did see that whatever had been used to paint it was of poor quality, seeming to have run to the ground all over, and flaked away in some spots.

Helene’s voice rose to a fever pitch; she spoke Greek, though like the words I’d seen in the chapel before it was no Greek that I could understand. In her hands she held a knife, and as I watched she slit the horse’s throat, the blood rushing out into a basin.

Yet she wasn’t finished, for she came around and also opened the horse’s side, letting the entrails pour out into the ground. A sight that nearly made me faint. Still, I could not look away, rooted to the spot as she thrust her hands into that mess, as if searching for something.

Whatever it might be, I didn’t know if she found it or not. All I know is she seemed to stop, then gathering the entrails into her arms she threw them on the nearest brazier, the smell as they began to burn making my stomach turn.

All was horrible enough, but it still did not end. Grabbing the basin full of blood, which she did so with frightening ease, she climbed up the wall, without aid of ladder or stairs, and began to...paint in an empty spot. Filling the space with eyes that cried as the still wet blood ran, and jaws that slavered and foamed for more.

I turned and ran, freed from whatever hold she’d had on me.

Rushing to the dining hall, I am relieved now that I did not injure myself, I all but threw myself at Lady Hajnalka, who was the only person I could see. While she did make a noise of surprise, she took my weight with ease, guiding me towards the fire and pushing me into one of the chairs there. I went where she guided me feeling somewhat like a babe, unable to do anything myself.

She must have done something else as well, for the next thing I knew Dănești was there. It might make you uncomfortable to know that all my fear of him now seemed vanished, that perhaps he was the only safe thing here in this castle. He thrust as glass into my hands. “Drink.”

I did, not caring what it might be. My throat burned and I felt some of my senses returning to me. Enough to feel some surprise that Dănești knelt at my feet, and perhaps a sliver of fear that we were alone. “What has happened to you, Johnathan?”

I did try to answer him, but no words would come. Instead I finished off the glass, sputtering some at the burn of whatever alcohol was inside. “What is this?” My voice did not sound like it should, instead it was hoarse and strained, as if I’d been screaming.

“Vodka, my Russian compatriots claim it is some of the best.” He shrugged as if it meant nothing to him. He reached out with a cold hand and gripped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Tell me what happened.”

Again I could not, and I shook my head, hating that I could not find the words for it.

“Then look into my eyes, dear Johnathan, if your words fail you.”

I did so, though I had no idea for what he might intend to do. His dark eyes flared red as I stared into them, yet even then I could not look away. Dănești was the one who broke our stare in the end, pulling away and letting out a great many curses, even if I did not understand them, as he began to pace.

“I am sorry, friend Johnathan, that you had to see that. If I could have kept you from seeing it, I would. But, I will endeavor that you should never be alone with her again.”

Lady Hajnalka intruded then, curtsying and telling her brother that the bath was ready.

It should say something about my state that I did not wonder about that, or fear when Dănești helped me to stand and led me into his rooms.

Only when he began to undress me did I protest, if weakly. He laughed, and continued to remove my clothes. “While I do so enjoy your discomfort, it will be nothing more than a bath, dear Johnathan.” As if to prove this, he did not even look me over once I was nude. Instead grabbing me by the shoulders and helping me into the bath.

I let out a hiss at the heat of it, but it began to feel quite pleasant as it sunk into me. The smell of crushed lavender and chamomile soothing.

So I did not protest a whit as he began to wash my hair, only let myself be comforted by the contact and the attention. And when he washed my body his touch was as impersonal as a doctors. When he finished he pulled me out of the bath and dried me off, putting me not in my own clothes, but in a thick dressing gown of some sort.

“Can you eat?” He asked as he led me back into the dining hall.

I shook my head, certain that if I tried the food would not long remain in my stomach.

He led me into my room, and tucked me under the covers as if I were a boy again. I did not even protest when he settled himself into the bed as well, sitting atop the covers as if it were ordinary to do so. Cool fingers began to run through my hair and I lay there, listening with half an ear as he began to tell me of his childhood, simple, easy stories that said nothing and everything.

After a while all I could do was fall asleep, his voice and touch lulling me into the state.


	17. Letters, Phonograph, telegram; 24, May

Oh Mina!

Do not blame yourself, and perhaps now after all that has occured today I may convince mamma to come let me vist. Your letters HAVE been a good comfort and bring me much heart, I dare say you shall solve this ‘case’ with ease, for you know Johnathan better than anyone. And as to meet royalty, I dare say it would be a treat, them being strange or no.

While I might not have your advantage of time regarding love, I dare say I have still found it. And when we do next see each other we shall both have to begin wedding plans! Now that I have joined you in the ranks of the affianced; though you mustn’t tell the girls yet, for I’m sure some will be fair jealous that I was proposed to thrice, and seek to ‘beat’ my achievement.

Yes, Mina, THRICE. For when it rains it pours, as we all agree.

I do not blame you if you tell Johnathan when he returns, for I would tell my fiance if I were in your place. It’s only right that we tell each other all, as best we can, to engender love and trust. And, perhaps even though the world would not see us as equals in many ways; we husbands and wives would know the truth.

By now I’m sure you know which of the three were successful, but you must still wonder about the other two, yes?

The First came just before lunch, Dr. John Seward of the asylum and mind reading.

He seemed to wish to present himself as cool, but his nerves were quite apparent—though I was too much the lady to comment upon them, so he likely believes he succeeded—for he sat upon his hat soon after he arrived, and then as he tried to project more calm, he kept playing with a lancet. Why he should carry around such a small, but frightening, knife with him everywhere is beyond me. Even though I wished to scream I did not, for I knew mamma was nearby and would give such a scolding.

Despite his actions being nervous, his tone was quite cool as he finally began to speak. It did not frighten as the lancet did, but that his tone and his words did not match disquieted me. For to speak of love and how much one cares in the tone a teacher would give a history lecture is not right. Yet that is what he did, speaking of how much he cared, and hoped that I would bring his life much joy, though perhaps he did not have as much to give as others.

I could tell he was to keep speaking, but I could not stand it and made myself cry to dissuade him. You do not blame me, Mina? For being such a cold heart myself? He is sweet, but I could not marry such a man, and told him as such amidst my crocodile tears.

At least my tears appeared to much distress him, and he took the rejection with grace. Excusing himself soon after swearing he would still hope to be my truest friend. I can hope so too, yes? For there is some affection in my heart for him, even after all this.

Ah! The maid is calling me downstairs and I must away.

_Evening_.

I would have finished this letter sooner, my dear, but Arthur happily kept mamma and I entertained, and there was much for us to celebrate. But I will not put the cart before the horse in this telling.

Lunch let me gather myself, and for all the best, for soon Second came in like a breeze. It was quite clear from a glance that Mr. Morris had taken great care in his appearance, almost making him seem a bit of a rake, and not the grand adventurer he is. Perhaps when we next visit, Mina, I will share with you some of the stories he’s told—stories that Arthur certainly has not—for they are grandly entertaining and full of such good characters and breathtaking places.

So, Mr. Morris, of the fine appearance, managed to catch me alone. A great feat! For even with my trying to help, Arthur has not achieved such a task! (I half think mamma and Mary conspire for it to be so) And kneeling in front of me, took my hands in his own—which give the truth of him, for they are as rough as a workman’s might be—as he spoke.

It is always something of a delight to hear him speak, for he is quite fine at it once he feels inclined to. And his Americanisms and slang are endlessly fascinating; he uses them all the time when he visits for he knows I enjoy them. Though I am afeared half are not as true as he claims they are, so have not tried to use them myself, as much as I might wish to.

“Miss Westenra, I know I ain’t fancy enough to be the fixin’s on your little boots, but I’m hopin’ you’ll still entertain my words. But for one such as yourself I’m certain there ain’t no man fancy enough, and you’d be stuck with them other six young ladies and the lamps until trumpets sound. So I might as well see if you’d be willing to hitch your horse to mine on this rough road that is life.”

He was so earnest and good-humored sounding that I found it much harder to refuse him as I did Dr. Seward. How one could look at him and not see him as equal to any Englishman is beyond considering. For he is as good and true as many aspire to be, and so I felt compelled to be as good and true back. Though it might break his heart. Though I did also feel some thread of petty vanity at what was occurring, though I was too kind to let that show.

I clasped my hands with his, but before I could speak he let out such a torrent of admiration and love that I felt for a moment as if I were in some sonnet of Shakespeare’s, or perhaps one of Ms. Austin’s novels. Yet soon his speech began to slow, as if he saw something of the truth I wished to tell him on his face.

“Ah, Miss Westenra, you’re an honest-hearted girl, and trying to save me from an aching saddle as such girls always wish to. Yet I want you to tell it to me straight, as one fellow to another would, if you care for one of the others, or someone else entirely. I can take a shot better than most, and come out the other side well enough. Though I hope you’ll still count me as a friend and never fear to call on me when the wagons need circling.”

This time my tears were all too real as I nodded. It is such cruelty to reject such a man. How must it be that I can only be with one, when they all seem to love me so deeply? It is not fair to them, as heretical as it is. I told him it was one of the others, and that I would always consider him a friend, and as a friend he needs must call me Miss Lucy, or even Lucy, as any friend of mine would.

His eyes lit as he gave a wan smile, a hand reaching up to wipe away my tears. “Ah, true-hearted, and brave, Miss Lucy, and you can call me Morris, or Quincy as you will. A man could do worse than trying to win your hand and failing, and you do my aching heart good with your words and tears. Whichever of them it is, I hope they know what a gift you’ve given them; otherwise I’m likely to have words with them over being careless about it. As I hope any of your friends would.” He took my hands again, and kissed the backs of each like a gentleman. “Farewell for now, Miss Lucy, and I’ll be seeing you soon enough again.”

You must forgive the splotching, Mina, for I am a bit teary-eyed again just recounting it. But I am glad he still wishes my friendship, for I believe he deserves it. Another thing to add to the pile of things you and I must do: try to find someone worth of him and his attentions, for I do not wish him to be without love all his days.

Ever your loving

Lucy

P.S. Needs I must tell you of Third, when First and Second have done so poorly? I cannot say there is much to tell, for it all is a blur now. Yet I can still recall he came in looking so handsome and shining, and before I could even greet him I was in his arms and being kissed. Oh! Even thinking about it now makes my heart flutter and my cheeks warm. Such kisses must be pedestrian to you, Mina, but they are still new and thrilling to me. I cried for joy this time when he asked and I agreed. Such happiness as I feel cannot be denied and I hope we can soon share it together.

* * *

Dr. Jack Seward’s Diary

(via phonograph)

Ebb tide in appetite since returning. Cannot eat, and too early still to try and find oblivion in sleep. The world feels strangely empty and unimportant. As if there is nothing worth doing now that I have been rebuffed. Must try to seek distraction, and there is only one thing for it.

As I’d hoped, going among the patients and working has distracted well enough, although still cannot eat. I returned today to a patient I have observed a few times since his arrival earlier in the month, who has given me great interest and promise of an interesting case. So strange that I wish to know all I can about him, though he keeps much to himself. Speaking with him today gained me more clues to this mystery he presents.

I questioned him more intently than I have previous times, with the hope he will unknowingly reveal some piece of himself he has so far hidden away. So I might become master over his facts and the manner of his hallucinations. Perhaps it will merit a case log and paper that will afford me more credibility, though I have respect enough as the keeper of this asylum.

My manner of question was perhaps too cruel at times, keeping him on the edge of his madness; a thing most would avoid as they would the mouth of hell. Though when would one _not_ seek to avoid hell? _Omnia Romae venalia sunt_ , after all. If that is true then Hell must have it’s price too, _verbum sapienti_.

But if I am to make a case or paper of this, then the details must be cleanly known: R. M. Renfield, aetat 49. Unknown what his life was life before arriving here, the, possibly, brother who admitted him only saying that he’d attacked a maid all of the sudden. Sanguine temperament; great physical strength. Morbidly excitable, with periods of gloom ending in some fixed idea that I do not yet know. The sanguinity, as well as the gloom and it’s end, must all be some mental cycle that he goes through. As he has already attacked someone he is clearly dangerous, if unselfish. So I shall caution little, for that only safely guards against the selfish man.

So it is clear he has no balance, for the self should be the fixed point of the centripetal force, to be balance with the centrifugal: duty, a cause, etc. And he is too much the latter. Yet by what accident may one bring someone to selfishness? Or awareness of self enough to bring back said balance.

Ah, post has come, letter from Morris included. So that shall be the end of this entry today.

* * *

Art,

Now that all is done, I think it best we meet up at our usual spot tomorrow night, so that Jack and I might weep some over our cups, all while toasting you. And revel over the good times and near misses of our journeys yes? I know you’ll be free, as your new lady will be at a dinner party.

And we all shall drink deep! With many toasts to your happy nuptials, and to your health and your father’s too; and perhaps one for your sister for a better match than she has placed her bet on. Though you’d likely prefer not to think about such troubles when all is new and good in the world for you.

I will at least swear that we shall get you home well if you drink too deeply and speak, as you are wont, too fondly of a certain pair of eyes. I shall hope to see you there!

Ever and always yours,

Quincy P. Morris

* * *

Telegram from Arthur to Quincy

COUNT ME IN EVERY TIME. IT WILL BE GOOD TO CELEBRATE ON WHAT I HAVE GAINED THAN WORRY ABOUT WHAT I ALREADY HAVE.

ART


	18. Harker's Journal, cont; 28, May

_28, May_ —Since the events of the other day things have been...easier here, strange as it sounds. Helped greatly by the fact I have seen not even a whisper of Helene. The rest of us talk, play chess, and otherwise generally keep each other entertained.

Lady Hajnalka has taken it upon herself to teach me Romanian, although my purpose, supposedly, is to teach them English. I had thought being quite sturdy in my French and Latin, Romanian, being of the same family, would be relatively easy. Only to learn quickly during that first lesson that that was not the case; though Lady Hajnalka takes my successes and failures with equally good humor and does not grow frustrated with me.

Dănești has taken to touching me more frequently. Nothing that even an Englishman would consider improper: my arm, shoulder, hand. Worst of all is that I have grown used to it; his cold hand no longer shocking, but expected.

Even as I write it I am wracked with guilt, but I have sworn, at least to myself, that you should know all, Mina. That it seems I am not even the man I thought I was.

Beyond that there was something new to break up the monotony today. For I was woken this morning by voices calling on the grounds outside the castle. Glancing out my window I saw a whole host of colorfully dressed people milling about.

While travelling here I had seen most of the breadth of the peoples of Transylvania, but this is the first time I’ve had the opportunity to observe the Szgany. Their tongue does not sound like any I’ve ever heard before, and they speak it loudly, seemingly without fear.

Even from this distance I could tell their talking soon turned to cries of delight, as the Ladies Dănești joined them. They do seem to fawn some over the two of them, but what little I’ve read suggests the Szgany ally themselves with a nobleman or _boyar_ , so perhaps that is the case here and they are only paying homage.

_Later_ —Having eaten dinner, I am now too used to the fact I dine alone, and the Dănești do not make any more excuses; their poor father must be very ill indeed if I have not seen him since that first day. So it is no surprise they spend their meals with him, when all the rest of their time has been given over to me. Though all seem to have come to terms that he will not last the year.

Dănești himself was not around, but Lady Piroska was. And she was much obliging when I asked her about the Szgany.

“You are correct that they are our greatest allies, for they do not fear us as others do. Mainly owing to the fact our mother was one of them, so they see us as their own children in a way, and treat us as such.”

I expressed some surprise at this, for I would not think a Prince would marry a wanderer, except perhaps in a fairy tale. She laughed when I suggested it.

“Perhaps in England that is the way of it, here it was no great surprise, except among the most conservative. Mama was bold and brave, all too willing to stand up to our father, even as he won her over. Though his affection grew less as she did not give him all of the sons he sought.” She shrugged as if this were no great thing. “He did not put her aside as many might, however; and if he had other women, he had the kindness to keep it secret. I certainly never heard tales of any bastard half-siblings growing up, nor did Mircea.”

After so much time with them it is easy to forget their ways are not my own, for certainly no highborn lady would ever dare to speak of bastards and mistresses, at least not so boldly.

A loud cry went up among the Szgany, reaching us through the open windows.

“Mircea,” Lady Piroska told me before I could even ask. “They greet their lord and son, and now they shall happily tell him all that has occured since their last visit, so that he might keep record of them.”

I shall have to ask Dănești about it when he returns.


	19. Harker's Journal, cont; 31, May

_31, May_ —I am trapped!

When I awoke this morning and made my ablutions, I tried the door as always, only to find that it did not open at my touch. Yet the door between the antechamber and my room must still be open for when I put my ear to the door I can hear voices speaking, and many footsteps.

Opening the window I can hear a sort of workman’s song, accompanied by the sounds of shovels and pickaxes. And I can see children running back and forth, carrying pails of dirt. While about once an hour, by my watch, I see men carrying great boxes, the sounds of their exertions and the speed at which they carry them suggests they are quite heavy.

I will say it’s clear this entrapment is quite intentional, for there is food and a pile of books at my desk. Hopefully this is a temporary imprisonment, though why Dănești decided it was necessary I am not sure. I could have easily kept myself in the library if he did not want me underfoot while the Szgany worked.

Though what they work at is mightily curious from what I have already observed. 

_Later_ —I was indeed released, after evening had begun to fall and the Szgany returned to their wagons. Dănești did apologize, saying he wished to prevent any possible injuries or unintentional insults. Which did not quite satisfy as I might wish. However before I could push the question, as rude as that might be, Lady Hajnalka pulled me into another Romanian lesson. And soon enough I forgot all about it.

At least until now when I write it all down. It seems quite apparent they do not wish me asking after the boxes, or what the Szgany might be doing. Though I do not know whether to push, or let it lie.


	20. Phonograph, Harker's Journal cont; 5, June

Seward’s Phonograph

Renfield is becoming more and more interesting the more I try to wade my way into his mind. My flyman, a moniker I have taken to calling him, the reason for which will soon become apparent, is certainly overdeveloped in certain areas. Appearing quite selfish as well as secret in person and purpose. And I am sure that if only I could break the secrecy I would know all.

Flyman’s only redeeming quality seems to be a great affection for animals, though I am tempted to say it is instead cruelty of a distorted sort, for he keeps strange pets. At the moment it is flies, now the reasoning for his name is clear. He apparently takes great care of them, making sure they get food from his plate so that none go hungry. Although by now he has gained such an amount that even I had to speak up about it. For the sake of the other patients.

He did not break into a rage as I had expected him to, another piece to the puzzle!, but took my words quite seriously. He even seemed to take great effort to consider it all, which hardly seems the mark of a madman. Eventually he spoke.

“Might I have three days? By then they shall all be clear.”

I agreed this was acceptable, though I have told the keepers to watch him and let me know of anything strange. All must be recorded if I want to leave my mark on the science.

* * *

Harker’s journal

 _5, June_ —For the past week it has been the same as above, I am kept in my room while the Szgany do their strange work, in a way I’ve grown used to it. And at least every morning there are fresh books for me to investigate.

Whatever curiosity I’d had about the boxes has long gone, now that I have a new mystery to catch my attention, for while I was reading I came across a word in German I did not know, and so sought out my polyglot dictionary.

Only to discover it gone! Along with all my papers, notes, travel documents, my writing utensils, and even one of my suits! My journal remains, thanks to the fact I’ve kept it on my person since arriving. (As to how I am writing now, dear Mina, I was able to procure quill and ink, and am infinitely grateful we’ve moved past such things.)

When I was let out I confronted Dănești about this theft, and he was as much baffled as I. Or at least that is how he presented it to me. Later on while I was in the library, the door had been left open and I could hear him and Lady Piroska speaking in hushed tones, and I must thank Lady Hajnalka for the lessons. For while I could not follow every word they said, I could still tell they spoke of Helene and they suspected her. Though not a one of them have said as much to me.

Helene. I shudder now to think of her. Whatever lure she might have once used upon me I believe to have been long shattered now. And any supposed affection I might have once held for her has now withered away. Much to my relief, as well as yours, Mina, I’m sure.

I begin to feel as if I’ve fallen into the middle of some conspiracy, and I am not sure which is the right side and which is the wrong.

_Later_ —I was awoken from my sleep a little while ago by the most terrible scream. I rushed to my window with a candle, but the dark here is too deep to truly see far. I could hear noise from the Szgany camp, though, which at least proved I had not dreamed the sound.

I was about to turn back to bed, though how I could sleep without knowing what had made such a sound I did not know, when I heard a...scuttling sound.

Holding my candle to better give me light I held myself out the window as far as I dared, attempting to find the sound.

And I did, though I know not what to make of it.

For it was a person on the wall of the castle! A person wearing my suit! I watched in almost mild horror, they moved as a lizard might, and during such darting movements I managed to catch sight of blonde hair.

Helene!

Yes, there is no more affection, only worry that she seeks to pour some fresh devilry upon me. For clearly she is plotting something, and is indeed the thief from this morning. I do not care if it might be rude, I must be gone from this place soon, or become truly adrift.


	21. Harker's Journal, cont; 7, June

_7, June_ —It seems the Szgany have finished their work, and indeed many of their wagons and carts seem to have left, taking the boxes with them, for when I tried my door upon waking it opened as it once had. So once again I ate at the great table alone. I have not asked after the boxes still, but after yesterday I found I hardly care. Despite everything I think I wish to now be away, to see you again with my own eyes, Mina. Hope that I have the courage and strength to share all that has happened with you.

I was in the library paging through the Law List when Dănești entered. A frown crossed his face when I told him I wished to leave.

“We are leaving in a few days ourselves, would you not travel with us, at least to Paris? It would be a great comfort to have something familiar as everything else around us changes.”

While I did find myself tempted I had the sense to ask if Helene would be traveling with them, and when he said she would, I explained why I then could not.

Dănești moved, and I barely even started at how close we ended up. “I understand, dear Johnathan, and do not hold it against you. Hopefully a new environment will curb Helene’s proclivities, but if you wish to leave on your own, than I shall make sure the mail diligence stops for you tomorrow in the Borgo, to take you back to Bistritz.”

I thanked him, and told him it would suit me greatly.

“Then if it is to be your last night here, there must be some celebration. Come.” He pulled me out of my seat with ease and I let him lead me out of the castle, and even over the drawbridge! Making me all too aware that it’d been a month since I have truly been out of doors. Spring had moved firmly onto summer here, and seems all the more beautiful for it,, especially now in the late afternoon.

He led me to the Szgany camp, where we were both welcomed warmly, though I could not understand their words. That did not seem to stop the Szgany, who pulled me from Dănești and eagerly shoved food and drink at me. Though I was still quite full from my earlier repast I still took some for politeness sake. Afterwards they seemed intent on introducing me to all of their band who remained, and I was inundated with the names of dozens adults and elderly as well as the hoard of children I’d observed from my window. I can scare recall a name to write down now.

Dănești did eventually rescue me, though he laughed greatly to see me standing there quite helplessly with a child squirming in my arms. He took the girl from me, and as he set her down on the ground to toddle away he called out something, prompting a flurry of activity.

I was given more drink, and soon musicians began to play. For a time I watched the dances, reminded some of the country dances back in England, until I was drawn in. I did not know the steps, but the Szgany did not seem to care, enthusiasm counting for much.

I am quite certain I danced with all who were there, even the children. From somewhere the Ladies Dănești appeared and spared the time to teach me at least some of the steps, and I could not help but laugh with them at my own missteps.

As true night began to fall I found myself swept into yet another dance by Dănești himself, who was smiling broadly, though his eyes were quite intense.

I could not speak, even had I wanted to, and Dănești seemed not to mind the lack of conversation. We spun around the fire with the other dancers, as a woman’s voice rose up in song, the tone boistrus and lively even if I did not know the words.

Eventually I did find the breath to excuse myself, grateful to sit down. I was plied with more food and drink, and this time I partook heartily. Content to sit and watch as the revelry continued. I was not surprised when Dănești soon joined me, the coolness of him almost welcome considering my own warmth. “Are you enjoying yourself, dear Johnathan?”

I said that I was, though he needn’t have gone to such lengths.

“It was no trouble at all, they would have done this even without us.” He rested his hand atop mine, thumb rubbing against the ring of his I still wore. “It is good to celebrate, even if there is no clear excuse, to remind yourself of all the good in life.”

Lady Hajnalka’s laugh rang out over the music as she spun around with a young boy. I found myself smiling fondly at the sight.

Some tried to entice Dănești to dance, but he declined them all, staying with me, even as I began to drowse. I must have drunk more than I had intended, for I felt quite warm and carefree as I leaned against him; resting my cheek on his shoulder as you have done many a time with me, Mina. I have no excuse for my actions, I am not sure I can even blame being drunk.

Dănești’s hand moved from my own as his arm curled about my waist, as if to hold me there.

I must have dozed off, for the next thing I knew I was in my bed.

Now that I have recounted it all faithfully, I must return to bed. Though I am not sure sleep will come easily.


	22. Seward's Phonograph, Harker's Journal cont; 8, June

Seward’s phonograph

As my dear flyman promised, his flies are now greatly decreased in number. Although it appears he still collects them in great numbers with his food, though now they serve a different function than before. As bait to lure in spiders. Which he seems to have an even greater number than he’d ever had flies, many of the other keepers are complaining about the amount of webbing now filling the cell.

Despite this change I have decided not to change the appellation I’ve given him, for to call him my ‘spiderman’ does not quite have the same ring to it.

If the spiders grow to be a greater problem I will have to speak with him again. Perhaps I shall anyways, just to see what next he will try to collect.

* * *

Harker's Journal, cont

 _8, June_ —It feels strange to be sitting outside in the early afternoon sun, waiting for the diligence. Strange, but nice, that my journey is now coming to an end.

I was awoken by Dănești early in the morning, though even if he had not, the sounds of the Szgany breaking camp would have woken me soon enough. I broke my fast and was relieved when Dănești furnished my passport and lines of credit, though how he acquired them I dared not ask. After I had packed we went down to the courtyard, I had expected the calèche to be waiting for me. Instead there were only two horses, on one of which sat Lady Piroska; astride and in trousers no less, but with all I have seen it barely signifies.

My bags were settled on the horses and Dănești helped me to mount. He took my hands in his own again and smiled up at me. “Farewell, dear Johnathan. I hope we shall meet again, come London, and that you might once more deign to visit this castle.”

I thanked him, and did not know whether to join him in the hope we would meet again. For I did not know what my situation might be like there, will you have left me, Mina? Will we have been wed and happy as all can be? Do you know what I have done? I should not make trouble where there yet is none, but even the sunshine cannot keep these doubts and thoughts away.

Lady Piroska and I did not speak as she led me back to the Pass, the world around me seeming different in the daylight than it had in the darkness. It truly is a beautiful land, and I would like to see it again, despite all that has occurred.

We reached the Pass in good time. And though I protested Lady Piroska alighted from her own horse to help me with my luggage, clicking her tongue at my words. “Luggage is barely anything, Mr. Harker, I have carried far heavier. Anyways,” she set my last bag down. “It is not the first time I have done so.” Reaching into her own saddlebags she pulled out a small bag and pressed it into my hands. “Should you get hungry before you reach Bistritz,” she said with an embarrassed air.

Peeking into the bag I saw cookies and sweets. I thanked her, and it seemed as if she wanted to blush, yet somehow could not.

She surprised me again, by joining me in waiting. “To be certain,” she confided. Though what help she might provide should someone try to stop me from getting on the diligence I do not know. Perhaps her mere presence is enough to deter such acts, though if one were truly desperate it might not matter.

Only a few minutes passed however before we heard shouts and cries in the distance, back where the castle was. Lady Piroska chewed her lip, hard enough to draw blood.

I told her to go investigate, that I would be fine here. With surprising grace she leapt onto her horse, and taking mine by the lead she galloped off.

The diligence should be here soon. I have eaten some of the cookies and find them quite good, though they are nothing like the sort I’ve had before. I managed to unearth the crucifix the old woman gave me what seems like a lifetime ago. I shall give it back to her and thank her for it, say that it was a great help; such a lie will do neither of us harm.

Ah! How amusing a thought that I will end this journal the same way it began. _Festina lente_!


	23. Recollection; 10, June

“You are still not mad at my trying to kill you a third time, are you Jonathan? Is not the third time the charm? And that you still blame me when it is Emil’s fault? Such loyalty.”

“He didn’t try to kill me, you did.”

“Bah, he invited you, thus he is responsible, not I. But it has been so long now that we may laugh at such things, yes? At how you seemed a perfect Byronic hero for song or screen, when you woke up in my chamber and realized you were trapped. You did not even call out for help, not that you would have gotten any. To die in the castle that so shocked and horrified you, and yet you did not seek to escape, not while Emil held you and pretended love, at least. I do not blame you, he is the most charming of men when he seeks to be.”

“Are all our conversations doomed to turn into this, Helene?”

“Only because you cannot conceive that I, being far older and wiser in the ways of the world, are right. But fine, we shall try to have a civil conversation where we do not speak of love.

“I had you trapped, and oh so resigned you might waste away there and then. I had not realized I’d terrified you so, that you would be quite docile and meek. At least, not until the moment I appeared and sought to end you. Resignation turning to animal desperation to _live_. You might think it your worst, but it is honesty, nothing less. You do not even know the fraction of all I have done to survive myself. You jumping from a window is a footnote to that.

“That you survived the fall is impressive. And had I the time, or the foreknowledge, I would have given chase. But I assumed that while the wolves would not touch you, the bears and the boars held no such respect. And if the animals did you no harm, then hunger and thirst would.

“I had more important things, for I knew the boat would soon leave Varna, and with it the gold Emil would need. For I still thought I might sway him from this foolishness…”


	24. Memory; 12, June

I had not thought arriving in Paris would be any more exciting than Vienna, or Budapest. But I found as we began to pull into the city I could not look away.

“Hajni, you’re going to smear the glass,” Auntie Piri chided softly.

“Let her have this,” Papa chided right back.

I pressed my lips together tightly to keep from laughing when Auntie’s gaze flew heavenward, as if that would be enough to save her.

As the train began to slow I opened the window in our compartment, the air reeked of life and coal and horses, and I could only love it. Before now I’d never left Transylvania, and now I could only hate that I had not been allowed to do it sooner.

Even from the train I could tell Paris sprawled, in a way none of the other cities we’d paused in had, a true metropolis. If this was Paris, then what would London be like? Thankfully there was enough in Paris to tempt my curiosity until we departed next month, otherwise the need to know might consume me.

Finally we shuddered to a halt, and if my heart could beat it would be racing.

With no luggage, at least none that the Tzigane did not guard, we departed easily. The crush of people all around excited me, but I still stuck close to Auntie, not wanting to get lost as papa looked for his aquaintance. Soon we began to gain stares of our own, for while the clothes we’d gotten in Budapest suited somewhat we were still clearly strange. I did my best to mimick Auntie’s cool, uncaring demeanor.

“Ah,” Papa cut through the crowd quicker, us hurrying to catch up. Coming to a stop in front of an elegantly dressed Moorish woman. “Madame St. Amand?”

She offered her hand. “Prince Dracula, it is good to finally meet you in the flesh.” She smiled as Papa kissed her hand. “I had thought there would be more of you?” She arched a curious brow, eyes glittering red.

“Helene decided to make her own way to London,” I spoke up before Papa or Auntie could.

Annoyance, not at me but at Helene, flashed across Papa’s face. “That is the way of elders, is it not,” his tone was easy as he offered Madame St. Amand his arm. “To do as they wish while the youthful fret?”

Madame St. Amand laughed as she took it, leading us all out of the station and into a waiting carriage. “True enough. One of my men is at the station and will help your Tzigane reach the theater, they’ll go unnoticed there while we do our work.” She looked over us all intently. “Of which I believe the first order of business is clothes.”

“Not a moment too soon,” Auntie said with relief. “This one is ill fitting and _itches_.” I was just as excited as she was about new, fashionable, clothes, but all my attention was outside the carriage, at the sights passing us by.

A gasp left me as we reached a more open part of the city. “Eiffel’s tower!” I’d only seen drawings of it in the old papers we had, and was excited to be able to go up and see it with my own eyes, Paris would look so lovely from the top of it.

“Pah, it’s an eyesore,” Madame St. Amand said. “I, and the rest of Paris, will be all too glad when they tear it down. Though the Fair gives us much leeway, foreigners are coming from far and wide to take part after all.” An exciting thought all it’s own, to see more of humanity in a month than I had in centuries of living.

Papa, Auntie, and Madame St. Amand began talking in earnest of their plans, to which I only gave half an ear. I had my parts to play, and I would play them well, but it paled in comparison to the world I was finally getting to see.


	25. Seward's Phonograph; 18, June

Flyman’s spiders have now become too much, and I visited him today to tell him as such, giving him the same amount of time I had with the flies to get rid of the bulk of them.

He was saddened by this at first, but acquiesced all the same. Just then a blow-fly, bloated and slow, drifted into his room, and Flyman’s expression turned canny. Before I could say anything he’d caught the bugger, and with an exultant expression ate it right there and then. Much to my horror, now and then. Ah, what terrible things madness will lower men to.

Renfield seemed to pity my disgust, telling me that it had been quite filling, and full of life.

I shall have to watch carefully how he disposes of his spiders, for I have the nugget of a thought, but can’t yet tell if it’s gold or chaff. Perhaps this relates to his mania, or to the notebook he is allowed to keep. Having paged through it I can say that it is only fully of tallys, which are eventually added up and up and up. As if he is attempting to focus the numbers to some ideal.

I feel as if I may be close to a breakthrough in this case!


	26. Seward's phonograph, cont; 25, June

The more I observe, the clearer it becomes that there is something of a method in my Flyman’s madness. Knowing that now, I am certain it will only be a matter of time before I understand it myself. And through understanding I will find the way to unseat his madness and return him to sanity. ****

To encourage this, I stayed away from him for the past few days, though told the keepers to make note of all that he did. Though with instructions not to tell me as well, so I might come to my own conclusions. ****

Flyman was quite genial when I came to visit today. As he’d been instructed his vast array of spiders has been cut in half. Gone into the service, it seems, of taming some sparrows. Their song is certainly more pleasing than the buzzing of flies or the cobwebs of spiders. I observed him offering one a struggling spider, and it came into his hand to consume it; letting him stroke it’s feathers after it was finished.

It is a childish image, but a strong one nonetheless. Now I shall speak with the keepers, see if their observations match my own inferences.


	27. Mina Murray's Journal; 2, July

_2, July_ —I had intended to start this tomorrow, once we’d reached Whitby, but after what I have just received I need to get my thoughts in order, so that I might better conceive of what might be happening. First, the letter itself:

_25, June_

_Bistritz_

Mina my love,

I am sure you are worrying greatly, but be at peace. For all is well and I have now left the castle and am headed home. And while I wish to rush and be only in your arms, I know it will do me much good to tary and see the world some. I am not sure when I shall be able to write next, but I am safe, and will be with you by the end of summer. That I swear.

Eternally yours,

Johnathan

It is his handwriting, yet there is something about it that does not seem as _him_ , as if the shape and space of the letters is missing some vital piece that speaks of _Johnathan_. That he is not quickly returning home is worrying too.

I have shown the letter to Mr. Hawkins, who has been like a father to the both of us over the long years, and while he agreed there was something strange about it. He did not share the same worry I did, instead caring more that Johnathan had already spent far too long from his work, and now seemed intent on being away even longer. Without the protection of a Prince this time.

I shall have to find some way to get Lucy and I alone tomorrow, so I might share these thoughts and fears with her. Being more impartial than either Mr. Hawkins or I, perhaps she will see something neither of us have not and rule it one thing or another.

Until then I shall pray that he is safe, and that soon he will return to me.


	28. Mina's journal, cont; 4, July

_4, July_ —Lucy and Mr. Holmwood met me at the station yesterday, and we had a pleasant carriage ride to Sir Morton’s house. Mr. Holmwood seems a good man, steadfast but intelligent, and yes, quite charming. He managed to make me laugh, even though the gloom of that mysterious letter hangs over me.

I put up a brave face however, concealing all as we had tea. Mrs. Westenra and Sir Morton overseeing all like we were naughty children and not adults ourselves. Kate and Mary seem to get along famously, Kate appearing in awe of the Lady who can speak so easily of nobles and royalty. I had not thought there was a bigger gossip in all of London than Kate, but Mary Holmwood has proven me false. And when we return to school, Kate will be all the more in demand for it.

After tea we took a lovely walk up to the local kirk and it’s cemetery. We were not the only ones with such an idea, but who can blame any of us? For the kirk his such breathtaking views of the harbor and up the bay, and it is so pleasing to wander the cemetery. Above all looms the old abbey, sacked by the Danes long ago. I do hope we might chance to wander up there in the coming days, for it looks quite romantic after a fashion. Though we did hear a local telling some other summer visitors that at night a woman in white could be seen wandering the ruins, the girl from “Marmion” perhaps?

While we walked I did manage to pull Lucy back, Mr. Holmwood being drawn into conversation quite expertly by Kate; though I am certain she will extract a great price for doing so later.

I confessed all to Lucy, about the letter and my worry.

She listened with her usual kindness and interest, and when I had finished she took one of my hands in her own. “When we get back to Uncle Morty’s you shall have to show me the letter,” she told me. “I know if I were in your place, and it were Arthur who had sent such a letter, I would worry. You know Johnathan better than I, but I do agree it is unlike him. I have seen him enjoy my parties, but he is too studious and diligent to revel as others might.”

Oh, I cannot describe the relief that filled me with her words. I thanked her greatly and kissed her hands. Which made her laugh.

While my fears did not abate, I did find them easier to bear now that I had a sympathetic ear, so I happily let Lucy lead me by the arm back towards the others.

Had a very pleasant supper that evening, and my regard for Mr. Holmwood grows. Lucy has chosen a great match for herself, and I could not be more happy for her despite myself.

So that was yesterday, and today I am back up at the kirk, to write and have some quietude. If I look hard I can make out the others wandering the shore, towards the stream the Esk becomes as it wends through sands towards the ocean at low tide. Mr. Holmwood must have found some curiosity, for he has just bent down to pluck it out of the sand, and is presenting it to Lucy with grave comportment. I cannot hear them, but I am sure Kate at least is laughing at the poor dears.

It is windier today than yesterday, and I can hear a bell in the distance. It mingles with the cries of the gulls and cormorants to make one feel quite lonely and desolate, even surrounded by others as I am. It has been quite a time since I was last here in Whitby with Lucy, but the longer I stay the more I recall the stories we once used to tell each other to frighten and excite, the Lady in White being one of them.

Finally desiring a bit of company, and curious about the tales, I approached an elderly gentleman sitting alone and introduced himself.

He smiled at me, he was missing a few teeth which only added to his aged and weathered appearance, and introduced himself as Mr. Swale. As I began to make my inquiries into the local legends he laughed. “A young miss like you, thinking about such tales.” I was much relieved that he didn’t speak in the impenetrable dialect that the locals use. “Stuff and nonsense the lot of them, at least nowadays. Mebby when I was a boy there were bells ringing in the waters, but that was almost a hundred years ago now, you know. Good enough to terrify the tourists, but I dare say I’ve seen you here before,” his eyes inspected me closely under his bushy eyebrows. “Practically makes you one of us, so you can know it’s just that now.”

I thanked him, and wished to continue the conversation, for I’d certainly never met anyone that claimed to be almost a hundred before. Yet before I could speak again the town clock struck six and he stood, leaning heavily on his walking stick. “It’s always a treat for a lovely lady to talk to such an old thing such as myself, but I’d best be going now, my granddaughter's be getting the tea ready, and with how slow the going is these days I’ll be mighty famished by the end.” He gave me a nod and hobbled over to the steps.

Thankfully they are such a gentle incline that falling would do no one a great harm.

It is much later now that I’ve recorded everything, and should return to Sir Morton’s myself. My own tea should likely be ready soon, and it would be pleasant to have conversation again.


	29. Mina's Journal, cont; 5, July

_5, July_ —With Kate gone down to York to visit her family, bearing Lucy’s promise to bring back some good chocolate, and the Holmwoods gone duty calling, Lucy and I were left to entertain ourselves. Which we did by going back to the kirk to sit amongst the tombstones and have something of a little picnic.

We were soon joined by Mr. Swales and two other elderly gentlemen, who seem to treat him as a sort of Sir Oracle. Perhaps Mr. Swales sees it as a way to charm Lucy, but he seems much more dictitorial than before. Never towards Lucy, of course, for she is altogether too sweet and kind. But with his friends he will bully and contradict happily, until they can only give silence which he takes for agreement. And he seems to have deflected what he cannot give to Lucy towards me, which I can tell displeases her greatly, though compared to some of the girls I’ve dealt with at the school, Mr. Swales is quite refreshing.

And like with the girls, I knew best how to distract his tendencies, bringing up our conversation from yesterday. Which Lucy was quite keen on. Neither of us are Spiritualists, but it is hard not to live in London and not hear about them often. 

Mr. Swales puffed himself up, clearly readying for a great tirade, which he did not disappoint with.

“As I told your Miss Murray yesterday, it’s utter nonsense, lock, stock, and barrel. Made up by preachers and sermonizers wanting to scare people into righteousness. They get all the drivel printed and the people gobble all the lies up as if it were God’s own truth; gone so far as to start spreading it elsewhere, like the tombstones. Bah.”

“You would not much like London then, Mr. Swales,” Lucy told him prettily. “Seances and ghosts are quite the rage. There are even societies studying them scientifically, Mr. Doyle, and even Mr. Dickins, are members of one and claim to have met mediums who can truly speak with the dead.”

Which got Mr. Swales right back up in fine form, recalling it now makes me smile. “Not to disparage you fine ladies, but it’s clear you all in London do far too much thinking. The living and the dead shouldn’t mix as ladies and gentlemen do. Ain’t right. The dead should stay as they are until trumpet sound, and we living should only concern ourselves with being good and living decent lives. That’s the right truth of it. This keeping up, people’ll start thinking they can raise the dead early. Ain’t right.”

Deciding it might be best if Mr. Swales didn’t know about Mrs. Shelly’s novel, grounded in science as it was, I spoke up to turn the conversation. “You mentioned that the tombstones are lies, how so?”

“Near half of these hardly have a truth on them. Port town like this, half our living go to sea and die there forthwith. You think their crewmates put forth the effort to drag their bodies back to be buried? Ain’t worth it most times. So you pick a grave and it’s just as likely to be empty as not, Miss.”

I did nod, for that might well be true. Yet I found his words still did not sit right with me. “They might not be just for the dead, Mr. Swales, what about the living who wish to mourn?” I had done so many times with my own parent’s graves, though I had no memories of them, and with Lucy at Mr. Westenra’s.

Mr. Swale laughed heartily soon joined by his companions. “The living,” he said scornfully. “How’d you like to vist a grave all around you know to be a lie?” He pointed at the one right next to us. “Take a gander at that one, which is more than a right pack of lies.”

I could not read it easily, but Lucy sitting across from me could. “Sacred to the memory of George Canon. Died July 29, 1873, falling from the rocks at Kettleness. This tomb was erected by his sorrowing mother to her dearly beloved son, for the hope of his glorious resurrection. ‘An only child, and she a widow.’ Oh, Mr. Swales, I don’t see how that’s funny one bit!”

“Ah, to be so sweet again. Ha! Tis quite funny when you know his dear ma was pious hell-cat who thought him doomed to wrong being deformed as he was. Ain’t no ‘dearly beloved’ about that at all, and any sorrowing she might’ve done was all crocodile tears and show.

“He hated her just as much, course. Killed ‘imself just to spite her, so she couldn’t get a ha’penny of the insurance she’d taken out on him. Ain’t right to say, but I’m sure he’s well happy in Hell knowing his ‘dear’ ma’s up being pious in Heaven.”

Lucy rose, quite a bit of color in her cheeks. “Oh! How could you say such things? If any of them were true then how could he be buried here? You dislike such terrible stories, yet you tell the most terrible one yourself!” She stormed away as any lady should, and scooping up the basket I moved to catch up.

To distract the both of us I lured Lucy up to the Abbey. Where we managed to spend a few pleasing hours amongst the ruin, before returning to her uncle’s home.

I will not mention it to Lucy, not soon at least, but all the talk of death and graves has me more worried for Johnathan. I know the Continent is as safe as anywhere, but the idea of him dead somewhere with not even an empty grave here in England to commemorate him is frightening. 


	30. Seward's Phonograph, cont, Mina's Journal, cont; 6, July

Seward’s phonograph, cont

Yet another change in my Flyman today. I went to visit him again, to find his sparrows have grown into a colony, their nests have not quite filled every nook and cranny, but it is a near thing. And we should be grateful that it is past mating season, for this great amount of birds would not stand each other. Even with all the flies and spiders Renfield has now fed them.

When he saw me, his expression grew fawning and he spoke to me in tones one would a dog or child. “Oh, Dr. Seward, if it pleases you I’d so very much like a kitten. A sleek and playful one! So that I can teach it tricks, and play with it. I promise I shant ask for any help, I will have no problems keeping it well fed!”

Overall, this request is not surprising, for his animals have grown larger with each iteration. Yet I found I did not like his attitude, even as I appreciated how respectful he tried to be. Nevermind that his sparrows would likely fare the same fates as previous spiders and flies. Which I found I could not stand, though the birds are now becoming something of a nuisance. So I sought to test his intentions, suggesting that might he not want a cat instead of a kitten.

“Yes. A cat would ever be so much nicer! I had not thought to suggest it for fear you might turn me out of hand. A kitten seemed safer, for who could say no to such a creature?” 

As I feared. I shook my head, and told him at present it would not be possible; but perhaps soon it could be arranged. Which caused him to show a bit of his true self: his look turning sidelong and dangerous at my refusal. His latent homicidal tendencies starting to show themselves, as underdeveloped as they are.

For now I will continue to refuse, and see how he handles it, and how far he is willing to go to get it.

_10 PM_ —already he is showing signs of strain. For when I returned he threw himself at my feet, begging and imploring that he get the cat he wishes. That his life and salvation depended on it.

Curious words that hint at his imbalance, which I shall have to investigate at a later date. For now I remained as firm as I’d decided to be. Like a child he pouted, retreating to his stool in the corner and gnawing on a finger.

I shall check again in the morning and see how things have progressed.

* * *

Mina’s Journal, cont.

 _6, July_ —It seems the way of the world, that when one hopes to relax and enjoy a place and good company, you instead are prone to worry and anxiousness. Writing this then, has become a sort of soothing action, as it still takes focus to form the shorthand and not the letters I am used to. Giving me something else to set my attention on besides my own thoughts.

My worries about Johnathan are joined by worries for Lucy, though not by any conscious action of her own, for she has taken to sleepwalking again.

I managed to speak to Lady Westenra about it, and in her way she was greatly concerned. Insisting that I lock the door and windows every night to keep Lucy from any sort of harm. Apparently Sir Westenra was prone to dressing himself and go out as if nothing were the matter during his own sleep; and Lady Westenra has got it in her head that Lucy will do the same, only she will end up on some rooftop or gutter, only to misstep and meet her doom.

While I do not agree to that extreme, I did agree to locking the room up, to hopefully ease my own worries, at the very least. She has also made me swear not to tell Mr. Holmwood, for fear he might break things off. Which seems a poor accounting of him, but I will hold my tongue for now.

I find myself wondering if it is Mr. Swale’s story that has upset her into old habits, though she laughs it off every time I try to speak of it to her.

Lucy’s focus today was on her upcoming marriage, which she easily pulled me into, and likely did us both good. Though her own planning is far more involved than my own. It does not bother me that she speaks easily of laces and silks and hot-house flowers by the armful; while I must content myself with my best dress, and perhaps some late blooming roses, if Johnathan does not truly return until the end of summer. Lucy and I will both be happy by the end of it, and that is all that matters.


	31. Phonograph, journal, cont; 8, July

Seward's phonograph, cont

Was not able to visit Flyman yesterday as planned, other work kept me occupied. But managed to do so this morning before the keeper made his rounds. Renfield was humming a tune to himself as he laid out sugar, which he appears to have saved up for just this purpose. Already it’s begun to attract flies, which pleases him greatly.

I did look for the birds, but found none, not even a nest. A far more drastic reduction than what he’s previously done with flies and spiders before. I inquired about this, curious to know what reasoning he might give. Only to receive the reply that they’d all flown away! Hard to conceive when Flyman’s cared for them so studiously.

I gave one more quick glance about the room, spotting some stray feathers in a corner, and what might have been blood on his pillow, before taking my leave. Have notified the keepers that they are to keep a sharper eye on him than usual, and to let me know should anything unusual occur during the day.

_11 AM update_ —A keeper has just been by, looking well uncomfortable as he told me Renfield has been quite sick all day. Disgorging a frightful number of feathers. The poor man, rightfully so, was disturbed by his own suggestion that Flyman has eaten the sparrows raw, feathers and all.

_11 PM update_ —Made sure Flyman was given strong opiate tonight, enough that even he should sleep soundly. Taking away his little book once more to inspect it for myself. Ideas and thoughts have been buzzing around in my head like his flies, and I feel the book shall prove them true.

Ah! As I’d hoped, there are more furious markings last night, as the same on the day I’d seen him eat the fly. So my Flyman maniac does not seem to only wish to collect life, but consume it himself. Zoophagy at it’s zenith. So what he must desire is to ingest as much life at once as he can. So many flies to one spider, and so many spiders to one sparrow. And all those sparrows to himself, when clearly he’d wished to feed them all to the cat. What might he have asked for next?

Some would call it untoward for me to wish now that I had given him that kitten, just to see how far he would go. But how can science advance if we do not ask such questions and seek to answer them? If we hold back because of decency and morals than we should discover nothing new. Men once sneered at vivisection, and yet it’s findings are invaluable today!

Here I might advance not just myself, but all understanding of the mind! Who knows what the mind of my Flyman will reveal given enough time and study. Yet I must not let myself think too much on this, for it should be for the science alone, not the selfish, that one pursues such a course of action. Yet I cannot doubt that only such an exceptional brain as myself can truly plumb the depths of Flyman’s mind and remain intact.

Looking over these markings I find it almost amusing that he has so far valued all lives the same. One fly is a life, and so many lives might go into that spider; and yet when he feeds that spider to a sparrow he marks it only as one as well. And there is only one tally for each sparrow he has consumed. I cannot conceive that he would value the life of a man the same. For we are so much greater than our animal cousins. It was not a sparrow that discovered gravity, or a spider that painted the Mona Lisa, after all.

For all Renfield’s madness, he accounts quite well. Each day beginning anew. If only we should all do the same. For it seems only yesterday still that my intended hope ended my old life, and began a new one that seemed far poorer. Even with my Flyman in it.

Oh Lucy! Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. Even as your rejection marks the turn of my life I cannot be angry at you. Nor can I be mad at Arthur, whom you’ve made the happiest man alive. Perhaps if I could, I would have more to think upon than this thankless work.

* * *

Mina’s Journal, cont.

 _8, July_ —The Holmwoods left today, called back to their estate; which Lucy tells me is called Ring, though the whys are seemingly lost to time. Their father has fallen more ill and the doctors apparently state he’s not long to live.

Which means my worry for Lucy grows, for she too grows more worried without Mr. Holmwood to keep her steady.

As I promised Lady Westenra, I’ve locked our room up tight before retiring to sleep—thankfully I rise early, so the maids are not flummoxed when they try the door to wake us. It is for the best, for Lucy has sleptwalked these past few days, trying the door every time, before starting to search for the key. Which I keep on me.

I am grateful no one can read this but Johnathan or I, for I must be honest. To be woken in the middle of the night by the sounds of rummaging around is quite frightening. My heart pounds, and my brain asserts it must be some robber or another. Before logic regains control, reminding me that it is only Lucy.

Thankfully she’s easily led, and when I put her back under the covers she settles in quietly and resumes true sleep.

In a way one might consider this good practice, for there will certainly be children in my future, ones who will provide far more disruption to my sleep than Lucy could ever hope to.


	32. Mina's Journal, cont; 11, July

_11, July_ —Last night the weather seemed more foreboding than usual, and as I sit I hear talk of a storm coming. A fact Lucy must have somehow already known, for last night and today she is more excitable than usual, though she is otherwise her lovely self. This trip to Whitby has overall done her good, I think.

Once again I sit in the kirk, although Lucy has not returned since our conversation last week with Mr. Swales. Despite last night and the promise of a storm, today is strangely breathtaking. The world seems almost all of gray: the sky, the water, even the sunlight is misty and gray. Yet as if to combat this, the grass and trees are such a green as cannot be believed. There is almost a magical unreality to the whole place, as if this is only a dream. If that were true though, Johnathan would be here with me, so we might enjoy this magic together.

So this then is reality, with the boats all rushing to the docks, and Mr. Swales walking towards me, hat raised in greeting.

He sat next to me, a rather grave expression on his face. “I want to say something to you, miss, I would’ve hoped your darling friend were here to hear this as well, but I hope you will pass my words onto her.” I found myself taking his hands in my own, and promising that I would.

“Good, good.” He nodded. “I know I must’ve shocked the both of you with those wicked words about the dead that I said last week. I didn’t truly mean them, and I want you to remember that when I’m gone.” Before I could question what he meant he continued. “You and the other miss are young and full up with life. But I’m old, and so I’m already half-dead by my accounts. Some days it frightens more than others, so the likes of us make light of it, to try and make us feel better, that’s all it was.

“Not to say I’m afraid of dying, a hundred years is almost too much for any person leastways. So I’m luckier than most. Any new day I get’s a miracle, no mistake; for Death’s getting his scythe well and ready for me. Ah, miss, don’t cry.” He wiped at my tears with his other hand. “I ain’t afraid, and I’ll welcome the old man happily should he come tonight. Maybe that’s him now, on this wind that brings loss and wreck on the heels of the storm. Look!” Yet despite my best efforts I could not make out what he was gesturing to. “It’s there, behind the mists! The promise of death.” He kissed the backs of my hands fervently, before raising himself up and hobbling back to the town.

Leaving me to write all he said down, and hope that it might dispell this queer feeling in my chest. Oh, Johnathan, please be safe!


	33. Mina's journal, cont; 12, July

_12, July_ —Both Lucy and I slept fitfully last night. The roaring storm affecting us both, me with sleeplessness, her with sleepwalking. Twice she tried to get dressed and leave, but both times I stopped her and returned her to her bed.

We rose earlier than usual, though I cannot credit what might have stirred Lucy, and after a light breakfast we walked down to the shore, to see what might have been left behind. We were not the only ones, for the brutish storm seemed to have buffeted a ship to wreck, as a cat might play with a mouse. And there is much talk of the storm, the wreck, and the sightings of a white dog; which some claim is an ill omen of the highest water.

Eventually Lucy and I wandered from the crowd and the wreck further down the shore. We were much alone when Lucy spotted something glittering in the sands, appearing and vanishing as the tide rushed over it. Laughing like a little girl, Lucy raced the tide to fetch it. Showing it to the both of us when she returned.

“Oh, it’s ever so lovely.” True, for while the brooch was caked some with sand, that could not hide the fact it had the look of antique gold and a large clear stone that glittered like diamond.

“Do you think it’s from the wreck?” I do not know if even Johnathan would be able to answer if we could claim it as our own if that were true. But I did not want Lucy to grow attached to it, only to have to give it away.

After a quick glance around, Lucy used some of her petticoats to clean the sand off as best she could. “I have not heard anyone else talk of gold or treasure, things would be quite different if they had. We shall tell Uncle Morty when we get back, and he can tell if it belongs to anyone. Though I do hope it does not, it looks quite fetching on me, does it not?” She attached it at the shoulder, the gold and diamond glittering and indeed looking quite fetching.

She did tell Sir Morton as promised, though he said he could not think of anyone who would call it their own. Lady Westenra practically stole it away from Lucy, sending it off with a maid to be properly cleaned and polished.


	34. newspaper cutting, letter; 13, July

Cutting from the _Daily Telegraph_

_Whitby_

One of the greatest and suddenest storms on record here has just been experienced, with results both strange and unique. The weather before the storm had been somewhat sultry, not tot to any degree uncommon in the month of July. Friday evening was as fine as ever known, as attested by the great body of holiday-makers out yesterday for visits to Mulgrave Woods, Robin Hood’s Bay, Rig Mill, Runswick, Staithes, and other various trips in the neighbourhood of Whitby. The steamers _Emma_ and _Scarborough_ made their usual trips up and down the coast, though they amount of “tripping” to and from Whitby could be considered unusual. Much like the weather until the afternoon of that fateful day, when some of the local gossips who frequented the churchyard, which affords one view of vast sweeps of the sea to the north and east, called attention to a showing of “mares’-tails” high in the sky.

The coastguard on duty at once made a report, and there could be heard many old fishermen emphatically claiming there would be a sudden storm. Perhaps because of this claim the sunset was wonderfully beautiful and full of color, drawing out many more to the cliff in the churchyard to enjoy the show. Before the sun dipped below the mass of the Kettleness, it’s passage was marked by clouds of every colour one could hope to see in a sunset: flame, purple, pink, green, violet, and every sort of gold limning the edges. The only thing that hinted to the ominous storm to come were the masses of absolute blackness sprinkled about the clouds, seeming to take on fanciful shapes in the eyes of all who observed. The experience will not have been lost on any painters, and doubtless we’ll see many a “Prelude to the Great Storm” at the R.A. and R.I. soon enough.

The wind fell away completely during the evening, and by midnight there was a dead calm. Along with a sultry heat and the prevailing intensity which precedes the approach of thunder. By now there were few lights at sea, for even the coasting steamers kept well seaward. The only sail noticeable was a foreign schooner with all sails set, which was seemingly going westward. Many were critical of what they considered foolhardiness or ignorance of the crew, sparking great debate while she was still in sight. Efforts were made though to signal her to reduce sail, though she seemed not to notice. Curiously, your correspondent has found comment on this same ship as far south as Lowestoft, with the same apparent appearance.

A little after midnight came a strange sound over the sea, a faint, hollow booming. The only sign given before the tempest broke. It was as if, all at once, Nature grew furious. The waves rose, each new one overtopping the previous. The white-crested waves beat madly on the level sands and rushed up the cliffs. Others broke over the piers with their ships, even daring the try and sweep the lanthorns of the lighthouses that mark the harbour. The wind seemed more like thunder, blowing with such force that all struggled to keep their footing. Both aspects forcing the crowds from the piers towards safer ground, otherwise the fatalities of the night would have been increased manifold.

To add to the danger, masses of sea-fog drifted inland—white, wet clouds, which seemed almost as ghosts; bringing to mind the many spirits who likely wander the sea, finally reaching land to touch their living brethren. At times the fog cleared, and the sea could be seen under the flash of lightning, which came so thick and fast as to almost give the impression of daylight. Followed by such peals of thunder that people claimed they could feel the earth quake beneath them.

Even amidst the lightning, one could make out the searchlight which had recently been installed but not yet tried. Soon enough it rediscovered the schooner. The wind by now rushed with the waves to the shore, and there was a shudder amongst the watchers as they realized the danger the ship was now in. For between her and the port was a great flat reef, which has claimed many ships in the past. With the wind blowing as present it would be quite impossible for the ship to meet the mouth of the harbour.

High tide was nigh, but the waves were so great that one could observe the shallows in their troughs, making such a thing as tides inconsequential. The schooner, still with all sails set, now seemed to rush with such speed that, in the words of one old salt, “she must fetch up somewhere, even if that be hell.”

Any view however was soon obscured by another rush of sea-fog. So thick as one could only hear, the thunder and wind sounding even louder in the damp oblivion. So that all the watchers could do was wait with baited breath for the sound of the inevitable crash.

The wind though quickly shifted to the north-east, clearing the fog and revealing the schooner again, the searchlight quickly landing upon it. Then, _mirabile dictu_ , it caught the sails of the schooner, pushing it ahead of what seemed the greatest wave yet, and into the safety of the harbour, to many cries of relief. Though that relief soon turned to a shuddering horror, for the ship was now close enough to make out the details, most gruesome of which was that a sailor seemed tied to the wheel, head drooped and waving from side to side with the movement of the ship. It is a horrible sort of awe to think the ship might have found the harbour by the hand of a dead man! The schooner certainly did not pause now, instead rushing across the harbour to finally pitch herself on the sand under East Cliff, called locally Tate Hill Pier.

Which brought with it a considerable concussion, that drowned out even the thunder for the briefest of moments, as she drove up on the sand. So forcefully that the top sails came crashing down, creating a great tangle of sails and rigging. Strangest of all, the very instant the shore was touched, an immense whte dog sprang up on the deck, as if shot up by the concussion, and running, jumped from the bow onto the sand. Making straight for the cliffs. Despite it’s color it managed to disappear in the darkness.

It so happened that there was no one on Tate Hill Pier, for all those whose houses are in close proximity were either in bed or out on the hights above. Thus the coastguard were the first aboard the ship. As if to help him, the men working the searchlight did a final scour of the harbour before turning their light to the derelict and keeping it there. The coastguard ran to the wheel, and when he bent over to examine it recoiled at once, stirring great curiosity in the observing crowd. Piqued some began to run towards the ship in hopes of getting a better sight, as your correspondent is a fairly good runner I came well ahead of the crowd. Even so there were already people crowded about, though the coastguard and police were keeping them from coming aboard. By courtesy of the police and chief boatman I was permitted to come aboard to help document everything. So I am one of a small group who truly saw the dead seaman whilst he was still tied to the wheel.

It is no wonder the coastguard was surprised, for not often are such sights seen. The sailor was simply fastened by his hands, one tied over the other, to one of the wheel’s spokes. Between the inner hand and the wood was a crucifix, the beads of which had been wrapped around the wrists and wheels as well. He must have been in this state for some time, for the doctor—Surgeon J.M Caffyn of 33, East Elliot Place—noted that the ropes had dug well into the flesh, and that the man himself must have been dead for the past two days. Found in the sailor’s pocket was a little green bottle, empty save for a bit of paper. Which when opened showed itself to be an addendum to the ship’s log. The coastguard said the man must have tied up his own hands, fastening the knots with his teeth.

It is needless to say that the dead steersman has been reverently removed from the place where he held his honourable watch and ward till death—a steadfastness as noble as the young Casabianca—and placed in the mortuary to await inquest.

The storm left as quickly as it arrived, as if, having served it’s purpose, it knew to depart. The crowds soon departed, scattering homewards; though it is doubtful many will remain there long. I shall send, in time for your next issue, further details of the derelict ship, which I’m certain shall interest all.

* * *

Dear sirs,

I am writing to you in regards to the cargo you had shipped about the now derelict _Demeter_. It has been given to us here at 7, The Crescent, Whitby, for safekeeping, or sale should you not seek to reclaim it. We will give you one week to reply before taking further action.

Yrs. 

C.R. Spencer & Son


	35. Chapter 35

Cutting from the _Daily Telegraph_

_Whitby_

This sequel to the strange tale of the derelict in the storm is almost more strange than the thing itself. If you, dear reader, can continence such a thing.

The schooner is a Russian one from Varna, called the _Demeter_ , and bound for Dover, why she did not make land there will become apparent later on. She was almost entirely in ballast of silver sand, with only a small amount of cargo—a number of wooden boxes labeled as “heavy dirt” in the manifest. This cargo was consigned to a Whiby solicitor, Mr. C. R. Spencer, of 7, The Crescent, until the owner, a Mr. S. F. Billington of Dover, could be contacted regarding the cargo. The Russian Company, too, acting for the owner, took formal possession of the ship, and paid all harbour-dues, etc. Nothing is talked about here today except the strange coincidence; the officials of the Fisheries and Harbour Department have been most exacting in seeing that every compliance has been made with existing regulations. As the matter is to be a “nine days” wonder, they are evidently determined that there shall be no cause for complaint afterwards.

A good deal of interest was aboard concerning the dog which landed when the ship struck, and more than a few members of the S.P.C.A., which is very strong here, have tried to befriend the animal. So there is a general air of disappointment that it has not yet been found, seeming to have disappeared entirely from the town. One might wonder if it ever existed at all, though it has left clear signs of it’s existence. For early yesterday morning a large dog, a half-bred mastiff belonging to a coal merchant close to Tate Hill Pier, was found dead in the roadway opposite to its master’s yard. It had clearly been fighting, and manifestly had had a savage opponent, for its throat was torn way, and it’s belly slit open as with a savage claw such as a tiger might wield. One of the local scientists has photographed its eyes in the hopes that he may be able to reproduce the image of the last thing it saw whilst alive.

This dog’s death is generally attributed to the newcomer, and a close watch is being kept for the latter lest it should cause further harm to either brute or human. Yet most claim it had to have been very afraid and fled to the moors, where it is still hiding in terror. So there is much mourning, for, despite the attack, public opinion wished for it to be adopted by the town.

Back to the matter of the ship: by the kindness of the Harbour Board inspector, I have been permitted to look over the log-book of the _Demeter_ , which was in order up to within three days of the crash, but contained nothing of special interest except as to fact of missing men. It is the paper in the bottle that has captured the attention of all, which was today produced at the inquest. Bringing the two together creates such a story that can scarcely be believed, certainly I have never come across such a tale before.

I have also been permitted to use them, and accordingly send you a rescipt, with only minor details of seamanship and supercargo omitted. I am almost led to believe that the captain had caught by some sort of mania that was shaped by the long days upon barren seas. Of course, my statement must be taken _cum grano_ , since I was dictated the log and paper by a clerk of the Russian Company, who kindly translated.

* * *

Log of the _Demeter_

Varna to North Sea

 _Written 23 June, things so strange are happening, that I shall keep accurate accounts henceforth until we land_.

On 11 June finished taking on cargo, silver sand and boxes of dirt. At noon set sail. East wind, fresh. Crew, five hands, two mates, cook, and myself (captain).

On 16 June entered Bosphorus at dawn. Boarded by Turkish Customs officers and made backsheesh. All correct, left by 4 P.M.

On 17 June through Dardanelles. More Customs officers and flagboat of guard squadron. More backsheesh made. Work of officers through, but quick, want us off soon. At dark passed into Archipelago.

18 June, passed Cape Matapan. Crew dissatisfied about something. Reeks of fear, but crew would not speak of it.

19 June. I am anxious about crew. Men steady fellows, who have sailed under me before. Mate could not make out what was wrong either. They only say there is _something_ and cross themselves. Mate lost temper and struck one of them. Expected quarrel, but all was quiet.

21 June. Mate reported in the morning that one of crew, Petrofsky, was missing. No account for it, took larboard watch eight bells last night, relieved by Abramoff, but did not make it to bunk. Men more downcast than ever. Apparently expecting something of this kind, but would not say more to it. Mate getting very impatient with them again, fear trouble ahead.

22 June. Olgaren came to my cabin yesterday, and in an awestruck way confided to me that he thought there was a strange woman aboard. Saying in his watch he had been sheltering behind the deckhouse, as there was rain, when he saw a tall, pale woman in white come up the companionway, go along the deck forward, and disappear. Cautiously he followed, but when he got to the bows he found no one, and the hatchways were all closed. He is in a panic of this “White Lady,” and claims we are doomed as superstition would have it, I am afraid this panic will spread. So today I shall search entire ship carefully from stern to stern to alley it.

Later in the day gathered whole crew, and told them, since they believed we had stowaway, we would search the ship to find her. First mate angry; said it was useless, and giving into such fears would demoralize men further. Boasted he would keep the men out of trouble with a handspike. I set him to helm, while the rest began a search. Keeping abreast each other with lanterns, leaving no corner unsearched. All was as should be, with no odd corners where a man could hide. Men relieved when search ended, now cheerful as they return to work. First mate scowled.

23-25 June. Rough weather last few days, all hands busy. Men seem to have forgotten dread in the crush. Mate cheerful again, and all is well. Praised men for their good work. Passed Gibraltar and out through Straits.

27 June. Doom has returned to ship. A hand short entering Bay of Biscay with wild weather to be promised, and now a second hand lost. Like first, came off watch and not seen again. Men in panic and fear; begged to have double watch as they do not want to be alone. Mate angry. Fear trouble again, as they might come to violence. Accusing each other of being cads, and the cause of being haunted by the ghost of the young woman.

1 July. Four days in hell, battered about in a maelstrom and tempest. Not a single chance for sleep, men all worn out. Hardly know how to set a watch, since we are all the same. Second mate volunteered, to let the men snatch a few hours sleep. Wind abating; seas still awful, but ship is steadier now.

2 July. Tragedy. Had single watch tonight, as we have still not recovered enough for double. When morning watch came on deck, found it empty save for steersman. Outcry and all responded. Ship searched, but again no one found. With second mate gone, crew in even more of a panic. Mate and I now armed, to wait for any sign of cause.

3 July. Calculations tell us we are nearing England, a great cause for rejoicing at last. Retired worn out, slept well. Awaked by mate telling me all on watch, and steersman were missing. So we are now four.

5 July. Two days of unending fog. We must be in the English Channel, but cannot tell. Had hoped to be able to signal for help, but it will be useless now. Have to run before wind, for there are not enough of us raise sails should we lower them again. So we are drifting towards some terrible doom. The mate more frightened than rest at this prospect; his stronger nature turned against him. But the men are Russian and used to doom, while he is Romanian.

6 July, midnight. Woke up to a cry. Yet could see nothing outside my port for the fog. Rushed out and encountered mate. Said heard cry and ran out, but no sign of man on watch. Lord help us! Mate says we must be past Dover, for he saw North Foreland just as man cried out. I cannot confirm as fog thicker than ever. Could not turn around to head to correct port even if I wished to. For only God could guide us safely, and he has abandoned us.

8 July. At midnight, went to relieve man, but found no one at wheel. The wind was steady, but I dared not leave it, so shouted for mate. He rushed up, wild-eyed and haggard, I feared the worst from him. Proven when he came up to me, putting his mouth right to my ear to whisper, as if afraid of whom might hear. “ _It_ is here, I know it, now. I saw it on watch last night, like a woman of terrible beauty. It was in the bows, looking out. I crept behind It, and stabbed It.” As he spoke he drew his knife and stabbed the air. “She turned and smiled, unharmed. ‘You are next,’ she said.” He grinned with teeth. “But I will find It first. It must be in the hold, _in_ one of the boxes. I’ll go look, you work the helm.” Putting his finger to his lips he moved away and went below. Soon he came up again, with a tool chest and lantern. Would have tried to stop him, but the weather grew worse. And letting him work his madness on boxes is not too horrible a thing, as they cannot be hurt. So I remain, and write my notes. God may have abandoned us, but I still have hope He or some Saint might show pity yet.

It is all over now.

Just as I was hoping the mate would return calmer—I have heard him knocking away in the hold ceaselessly until now—there came up the hatchway a sudden scream, which made my blood cold. Up on the deck he came as if shot. A full madman now, face contorted in fear and eyes rolling. “Save me! Save me!” Yet as he looked about the unending fog his fear turned to despair. So that he spoke quite steadily. “Best you join me, captain. The sea will save us from Her. If she gets her hands on us we shall be sacrifice, but the sea will take us directly to God.” Before I could even say a word, he had leapt up on the bulwark and threw himself into the sea.

I suppose I know the secret now, too. It was he who had killed the men, one by one, and now he has done away with himself. Oh God! How am I to account for this horror when I reach port? _When?_ I fear that is never to be. This must be hell, and this is my eternal torment.

9 July. Hell is fog. I do not even know now if the sun sets or rises. Is there sunlight in hell?

I dare not go below, I dare not leave the helm, I dare not hope I shall wrest free of this hell and find heaven. Not when the fog is not my only tormentor. In the dimness of my lantern I saw It-Her! Singing to herself in Greek. “Great Earth-Shaker do not let this Corn-Mother go free. Her daughter is already dead beneath the earth in her dread husband’s arms. Your sister gives you nought for her freedom, so take the blood and hold fast.” I should have followed the mate while I still had the chance, now it is far too late. But I am the captain, I must not leave my ship. I wish to fall at her knees and cry at her beauty, I wish to recoil at the awfulness of it.

I can still hope to escape sacrifice at least. I shall tie my hands to the wheel, and with my crucifix to show I am of God. Hope that it will be enough to save my soul, and honour as captain. So these will be my last words, unless God decides otherwise. I hope these words will find someone, and that they will be heeded. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, save me.

* * *

The folk here hold almost universally that the captain is a hero, and he is to be given a public funeral tomorrow. Though the verdict is still an open one, being no evidence to induce one way or the other. Whether it was the mate, or the captain himself who committed the murders. None now can say. Though it is clear there was madness aboard the _Demeter_ , and we can only hope it does not spread to our fair country.

* * *

Dear Sirs,

Thank you for your notice, and you shall find enclosed £10 to cover storage and upkeep of the boxes until such time as the true owner instructs us on what shall be done. We have left a notice at his residence, but have been told he will not return to London until later. Your forbearance in this matter is appreciated.

Yrs.

Samuel Billington Shipping Co.


	36. Mina's journal, cont; 15, July

_15, July_ —The funeral for the captain today was most touching. Not only every person, but every boat seemed to be in attendance, and the coffin was carried by captains all the way from Tate Hill Pier to the kirk.

Lucy decided to attend with me, and we sat in our old seat, which was near enough that we could see quite everything when the time came. She was quite upset by the end of it, not helped by us learning that Mr. Swales had died here on this very seat only a few hours ago. Poor Lucy is so sensitive that I fear all of this will make it into her dreams, adding to the worry she refuses to share. Or perhaps she does not know herself why she sleepwalks and seeks to escape our room. I only wish something good would come and distract her. Kate is to return tomorrow, but until then it is up to me. A walk by the cliffs to Robin Hood’s Bay should do the trick, and will give us some privacy as well.

_11 P.M._ —Oh, it’s not only Lucy who is now tired. But I will write as I have promised.

We had a lovely walk, though there was a spike of fright when some cows came upon us quite suddenly. We laughed, perhaps with a bit of hysteria, at ourselves for being frightened so, and it did much to ease some of the tension that had filled us both. Lucy was even brave enough to reach out and pet one. “Morris told me once that to look into a horses eyes brings the greatest calm one will ever know. Do you think the same thing could be said of cows?” It perhaps didn’t matter if she was jesting or in seriousness.

I allowed that it might be true, and we spent a few minutes looking into soft, placid eyes. I do not think it did me much good, but Lucy seemed much cheered by her own experience, and did not argue when I began to lead her on again. As we were quite alone, I thought it best to broach the subject of marriage to her, and what might be expected afterwards. For all her education and curiosity I am not sure she has ever thought of such things, and as her best friend I could not let it remain so.

She listened intently and asked questions that even I did not know the answers too. So by the time we reached an inn serving tea we were both in high color, making us appear quite lively.

Our “severe tea” was quite good and we ate heartily, much to the tutting of the “Grand Dames” who held court a few tables away. Though they seemed torn between frowning at us or at the woman sitting alone, whose mode would have been out of date when the “Grand Dames” were young.

Lucy pursed her lips thoughtfully, then stood, picking up her tea and plate. “Bring the pot, Mina, if they are going to frown at least we can weather it all together.” Her comment only surprised me a little, for it is quite like her. And I would admit some curiosity about the woman. So we made our way over and made introductions.

Despite how outdated her clothes were, they were well kept, and still a pristine white, which suited her pale brown skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes. She smiled at us with deep red lips as we introduced ourselves.

“I am Helene Sparta, please, do sit. I have been famished for good company since arriving.”

“Like the city?” Lucy smiled brightly. “Are you from Greece then?”

Helene took a delicate sip from her own teacup. “Originally, yes. Though it has been quite some time since I’ve been home, travelling and such.”

“An adventuress! How exciting! Oh, I hope I’m not too forward in asking for a tale. I have a friend who’s told me of many of the strange sights and people he’s met traveling the world, but it must be so very different for a lady.”

Helene’s laughter was quite enchanting, even the “Grand Dames” ceased their frowning for a time upon hearing it. “Perhaps another time, Lucy. That is a very pretty brooch.” Helene’s gaze fell to Lucy’s shoulder, where the gold and diamond brooch sat—as no one had come forth to claim it, Lucy had taken it as her own. “You should take good care of it.”

I was not the only one struck by this oddness, for Lucy frowned. “Whyever for? It’s just a bit of jewelry.”

“A diamond is not just a bit of jewelry.” Helene reached out and tapped the glittering gem with a pointed nail. “They are living things, the eyes of celestial creatures. If you keep it well, it shall look after you and make your love stronger.”

I asked her where she’d heard such a thing, for I certainly never had. Not that I am acquainted with the vagaries of gems and how they came to be.

“It is something we Greeks know. I know Plato wrote of it, but it does not surprise it hasn’t made it past the borders of our country. I assure you it is as true as can be, however.”

“Will you be staying in Whitby long?” Lucy inquired.

“A while yet.” Her expression grew distant, as if considering future travels and adventures. “I am not certain though, my family will be in London soon, and likely be desirous of my company.” Something strange crossed her face that I could not identify, and she laughed softly, as if having a good joke.

“Then you must call upon us.” Lucy produced a card and put it into Helene’s hands, her expression sparkling. “And I hope we might be able to call upon you as well.”

“I am afraid my lodgings are not suited to entertainment.” She smiled. “But I shall call upon you. Tomorrow?”

We both agreed that would work well. On the other side of the room a clock chimed, reminding me of the time. Lucy looked heartbroken when I told her we should be going. Helene stood as we did, and kissed us both on the cheeks in the Continental style—even now I can recall how oddly cool her lips were.

“Until tomorrow.” Helene said as we made our farewells.

The walk back was a bit cooler, but just as pleasant. This time we kept a good eye out for any cows that might wish to sneak up on us like naughty children, though none were to be found. By the time we reached the house we were both quite tired. Lady Westenra seemed not to notice, however, and insisted we both join her in entertaining the local curate. Which despite his youth was even more tiring than the exercise had been. So that beating back the Sandman was a true fight, one I hope I fought with honor.

Now Lucy is asleep and I am writing. She looks so lovely in the candlelight, the perfect image of gentle repose. If Mr. Holmwood were able to see her now I think he would fall in love all over again. I am “New Woman” enough that perhaps it should be a requirement for couples to see each other as such before there is any sort of proposal. Johnathan would have half a fright if I said such a thing, though I think he would eventually agree it so. He perhaps gets a little stuck sometimes, but it is easy enough to move him along with the right encouragement.

Oh, now I must try to sleep without tears or fretting, for there has still been no news since the suspicious letter the other week. But I must try.


	37. Mina's Journal, cont; 16, July

_16, July, 3 A.M._ —Journal again, as I fear sleep will be a long time in coming now. Such was the agonizing adventure we’ve had.

I must have fallen asleep right away after I finished my entry, to my own surprise, for next when I woke the candle had burned out and it was dark as could be in the room. An empty, expectant darkness, one that I found made me fear. Carefully I made my way to Lucy’s bed and, feeling around, could not find her. Lighting the candle again I found she was not in the room, for in my exhaustion I had not locked the door as I should have. I half-dressed, meaning to go out and look for her. I stepped out of our room, only to have a thought which might tell me where she might have gone; for if she wore a dressing gown she must still be inside the house, but a dress would tell me she’d meant to go outside. Both were still in her closet, which relieved me greatly. For it meant she could not have gone far.

Still carrying the candle I began to search the house, fear growing again as I continued to find no sign of her. A voice inside my head told me I should wake Sir Morton at the least, to help search—Lady Westenra having become more ill as of late. But even as I thought it I knew I could not, by resolve in this growing when I found the front door open, when it should have been locked tight. Sir Morton would believe me that Lucy was sleepwalking, but that she had managed to get outside when she shouldn’t have might do terrible things to her if someone other than myself found her.

Putting on my shoes I slung a heavy shawl around my shoulders, finding Lucy’s brooch attached to it. As much as I wanted to bring my candle with me I knew it would attract too much attention so I extinguished it and left the house.

Thankfully the moon was high and bright in the sky, giving me plenty of illumination with which to search, Lucy’s nightdress pale enough that it would be easily seen. The town clock was striking one and I could see no one around. My heart began to pound in my chest as I realized Lucy might be anywhere. I had to hope her sleepwalking steps might take her somewhere familiar, so I began running down the North Terrace, but found no sign of Lucy. Reaching the West Cliff that overlooked the pier I searched desperately, eyes darting to and fro for some sign. Much to my frustration heavy black clouds overcame the moon for a moment, obscuring everything as I looked to East Cliff and the kirk.

I felt desperate enough that I might start praying, when the clouds finally cleared. Revealing all. The ruin of the abbey was revealed first, seeming to slice the moonlight into swords as it moved closer and closer to the kirk. Oh, I felt such an overwhelming wave of relief to see a splotch of white in the dimness of the cemetery. Another cloud soon came, hiding her again, but now I knew where to go.

I ran quickly again, hardly feeling as if any time had passed at all when I’d reached the steps up. My feet began to feel leadened though as I began to climb, I still pushed on however, needing to reach Lucy. When I got high enough I could see her again, and to my surprise she seemed to be moving, as if standing up. Reaching the churchyard I called out for Lucy, but she did not reply, so I pushed on. Hurrying around the kirk which blocked my view, even with the moonlight.

When I saw her again I could see she was sprawled across our seat and not standing at all, her pale hair seeming a waterfall of white as it fell over the side and onto the ground. She was alone, and I could see no sign of anyone else who might have been standing about.

Going to her I could tell she was still fast asleep, and appeared to have as much of an adventure as I had, for her nightgown was in disarray. She was breathing heavily too, as if having done some great exertion. She shifted pulling her nightgown closed around her neck, shivering as if cold. I flung the body-warmed shawl around her, arranging it to make her more decent than she’d been, but when I closed it with her brooch I must have pricked her, for she flinched softly. Leaving her prone I knelt down and put my shoes on her, carefully checking for signs of blood. Relieved to find none I set about waking her up. Starting gently, and when she did not respond, moving on to great shakes that made her moan and her eyelashes flutter.

Yet even after waking sleep must have lingered some, for she showed no surprise in seeing me, or any sort of panic at where we were. I helped her stand, and while she stumbled with grace, she managed to keep upright. Wakefulness began to truly set in as I led her back towards the steps. I knew when she was truly awake, for when I flinched at the gravel biting into my bare feet she insisted I took my shoes back. Even now I almost laugh at it, for it is just like her. Thankfully we soon found a puddle which I dipped my feet into, perhaps not as protective as real shoes, but it would do well enough.

Like thieves, I certainly felt as that kind might at the moment, we crept through the town, hiding away in shadow every time we heard a strange noise. Thankfully the only person we saw was a drunkard stumbling home, soon turning down an alleyway, leaving us the main road again. We made it back to the house without incident and I washed our feet before tucking Lucy back into bed. She apologized deeply for what happened, but I cannot blame her.

I have triple checked the lock on the door to make sure it is sound, and I have the key tucked away in my bodice. Thankfully I have a book to keep me company should sleep not come.

_Noon_ —Lucy slept til I woke her, and it seems her midnight adventure has done her no harm. In fact it seems to have done her good, for she looks much healthier than she has recently, and she is greatly cheerful. She let me inspect her neck as she dressed, and I noted that I had hurt her with the brooch, but it is such a shallow injury that it should not linger long or leave much of a scar, as it is so tiny.

_Night_ —Today has been quite a happy day indeed. Kate returned soon after breakfast, bearing chocolate all the news we might want from York. With the weather outside so fine the three of us had a picnic made up to take to Mulgrave Woods. While Lady Wesentra took the open carriage, we three walked to the road, and by the time we reached the gate we found Lady Westenra deep in conversation with Helene. Who smiled brightly when she saw us.

Lucy quickly invited her along with us, in lieu of going back to the house for a more proper calling, and while Lady Westenra did not seem to think it completely proper, there was no real harm in it. Helene agreed. So now a quartet we went to the woods.

After settling in we fell into a delightful conversation. Helene asking us many questions about England before we turned the tables on her, asking her about Greece and what it was like.

“It will be very hot there now, so hot that nothing will grow. Demeter’s curse for what happened to her daughter.” Helene had refused the food, but drank heartily of the tea we served. “Though you’d think after so many millennia her ire would have eased with her daughter’s happiness.” She shrugged. “Perhaps now it is just tradition.”

“I had thought Greece a Christian country,” Kate said.

“We are,” Helene sounded strangely cross as she answered. “But the Olympians and the Chthonic were our gods long before Christianity was even the ghost of a dream, it is only right to afford them some respect and homage as such. Even you British espouse respecting your elders, do you not?”

The conversation moved from there, though I thought Helene’s comments odd enough to note down here. I suppose she is right in a way. We are Anglican, yet many still leave out cream and bread for the fairies, though they are perhaps not the same as old gods. 

Sleep tugs me down, so I will stop there. So the last thing I will note is that I have locked the door, though I suspect Lucy will be calmer tonight than she has been.


	38. Chapter 38

_17, July_ —I was wrong. For Lucy tried twice in the night to get up and leave. Both times she seemed to pout at finding the door and windows shut tight, the way she returned to her bed a protest of sorts. Despite the interruptions, I woke soon after dawn. Lucy woke too, and I was relieved to see that despite her frustrated sleepwalking, she was just as well as before. She came into my bed and we talked as we used to until the maid entered.

Over breakfast we received a telegram from Mr. Holmwood, telling us that his father was recovering and that he and Mary would likely return to Whitby for a brief while. All of which cheered Lucy even more. Though Lady Westenra seemed more melancholy than usual. After breakfast I found myself pulled aside by her, and she revealed to me that she was certain she had not long left in this world. Which apparently overcame even her joy at Lucy’s upcoming nuptials. Though she assured me she had done much to make sure Lucy’s life would be good after she’d passed.

I now feel grateful I have not told her of what happened the other night, for the shock would do her more harm than good now. So I shall keep it locked tight in my heart where it is safest, and here where no one may read it save Johnathan…

Damn and curse, the ink runs with my tears.

_Later—_ Lucy retired early, claiming a headache. I took the time after dinner then to have a stroll, to try and clear my own head and think of what I should do. For it is clear to me that something _has_ happened to Johnathan, yet even with all the money I have saved up for the wedding, I am not sure I could afford to hire someone to go look for him, or even to seek him out myself. I know Lucy would give me the money should I ask, but I perhaps have a bit too much pride for that still, but oh, if I do not then what if I miss my chance to find Johnathan!

So my mind was none the clearer when I returned to the house. Walking up the drive I saw Lucy sitting at the window, what looked to be a large bird—my first thought was swan, but the long trail suggested a strangely albino peacock—on the sill next to her. Strange, as Sir Morton did not keep birds. My mind in its current state feared the worst, so I rushed to our room. Yet when I reached it I found no sign of a bird, only Lucy half asleep still at the window, sluggishly trying to stand. I helped her up and to the bed, more worry filling me as I noticed how much paler she looked, and how heavy her breathing seemed to be.

It is perhaps unseemly, but I must do something, so I shall write to this Dr. Seward tomorrow and hope he will be able to help Lucy in some fashion. 


	39. Memory, Mina's Journal, cont.; 18, July

Departing the station at London didn’t feel half so uncertain as in Paris, but then we were not waiting for anyone here. We saw the Tzigane off on their way up to Carfax in Purfleet, then hailed a carriage to take us to what was to be our new home.

Hajni wrinkled her nose as we rode through the streets. “The people are pretty enough, but everything else is so...gray and drab.” 

I settled my skirts so they fell correctly, looking out the window myself. “London I think is more concerned with industry.” Though even I had to agree that the air, which had a foul taste to it, was more than a little awful. Though it cleared the further we got from the factories. We even began to see greenery again, to my relief.

“Perhaps when things are more settled here, sweetheart, you may go back to Paris.” Emil sounded almost excited. I wondered how much of his thoughts were focused on our plans, and how many were concerned with Mr. Harker. We had learned better of how this new world worked in Paris, but I doubt many of the strictures we had learned would stop Emil.

“Thank you, papa,” Hajni said with breathless excitement of her own.

I kept my own council at the idea for now. Knowing it would do Hajni good to have some independence of her own for a time. And Paris was not so far away. Though as I had half-raised her as might have my own daughter I would always worry.

The house we stopped at was pleasing, though perhaps a bit small. It would do for London, however. We were greeted at the door by our Majordomo, who introduced himself as a Mr. Sayre. “It’s good to finally be meeting you, Sir, Ladies.” He gave a neat bow.

“I am a prince, so it is ‘your highness’ or ‘highness,’” Emil corrected absently. “I would like for you to assemble all the staff so we might meet them and instruct them on what we expect.”

Sayre gave another neat bow and departed. Leaving us a moment of solitude, though Hajni seemed more focused on preparing herself for the work she’d need to do. “So now at long last we are here,” it felt strange to say.

Emil nodded. “Yes, and our work can begin in earnest. I’m sure I already have correspondence waiting, and I’ll send for the boxes as soon as we’re done with the servants so we can have the gold sorted away.”

I nodded, it would take some time, but we had no real need for sleep. “We still need to find Helene,” I reminded. She could look after herself, but it would be good to have an eye on her again after all that had happened; even if she and Emil clashed horribly.

A dark expression crossed Emil’s face, but before he could respond, Sayre returned. “All are gathered in the dining room, highness.”

We followed him, taking in our new home.

There were fifty or so servants gathered about, from the lowest maid to the highest cook. Murmuring quietly to themselves and inspecting us avidly once we joined them. Likely to their surprise it was Hajni who stepped forward to speak with them.

“It is a great pleasure to meet you all, and we hope we shall be good employers during our stay,” her voice was sweet and pervasive, some of the more weak-willed already falling under her sway. “We will not continence gossip about our proclivities and habits, any who are found doing so will be dealt with summarily. But otherwise we shall do our best to treat you with fairness and respect as you are due. You do not need to worry about making us meals, or keeping the larder well stocked, unless we tell you otherwise. You will not find this strange. Once I have finished giving you the rest of your instructions, the first thing you shall do is take away all the mirrors in the house, and store them in the attic, you will think of this only as an amusing quirk, to be defended and not derided…”

Hajni’s magic held full sway now, as she continued to bespell them. They would be a little woozy when she finished, but otherwise unharmed; having already perfected the trick while we were in Paris.

I felt Emil’s hand grab my own and squeeze, it trembling slightly with excitement. I felt an answering excitement rise in me, and squeezed back.

* * *

Mina’s Journal, cont.

_ 18, July _ —It is done. And I feel all the better for it since this morning, Lucy being languid and tired, even after the maid came to wake us. Though she gained some color back when it was announced Helene had arrived to visit us.

I have given Dr. Seward instructions to meet us at the Kirk at his earliest convenience, and to not write back in reply. Hopefully he is as good a doctor as Lady Westenra seems to think, and can help Lucy subdue her sleepwalking once more. 


	40. Letter, Phonograph, journal; 19, July

Letter Samuel Billington Shipping Co. to C.R. Spencer & Son

Dear Sirs,

The owner of the boxes has contacted us, and informed us that he and some of his men shall be arriving in Whitby tomorrow to take possession of them. His title is Prince Dracula, and we here agree it is not hard to mistake him.

Yrs.

Samuel Billington Shipping Co.

* * *

Seward’s Phonograph

Oh today has been a most glorious day. I had received Miss Murray’s entreating letter yesterday, and while it still seemed mostly full of female worry and hysteria, that it concerned Lucy made me more willing to go see what was the matter. The train ride this morning up to Whitby was quite pleasant and the air was refreshing and invigorating once I’d stepped off the train. Perhaps I should have taken a trip to the seaside long ago, even our ancestors understood it was good for one’s health.

Despite the seeming vagueness of Miss Murray’s letter in London, once in Whitby it became quite clear the ‘kirk’ she was speaking of, clearly she has gone native enough that she calls it that and not a church, but no matter. The walk up the steps was as invigorating as the air, so that by the time I reached the church I felt as full of life as one could possibly be.

The views from the church are quite breathtaking, most of all Lucy herself. Who sat quite prettily upon a bench, her blonde hair glittering like gold in the sunlight. Next to her was a more staid looking woman, save perhaps for her red hair, the Miss Murray who wrote to me I presumed. I approached boldly, and I was clearly expected, for Lucy soon spotted me, her expression making her into a second sun, helped along by the diamond glittering at her throat. A gift from Arthur no doubt. “Dr. Seward!” She waved me over and I was helpless to her call.

I joined them on the bench, having a brief moment of surprise when I realized it was also a tomb. Lucy must have noticed my expression for she laughed quite gayly. “Imagine that, a doctor like you, Jack, scared of a few mouldering bones.” Ah, if I had died then I would have gone willingly and happily for that must be the apex of my life. “But my manners, Mina, darling, this is Dr. Jack Seward. Dr. Seward, this is my dearest friend Mina.”

Miss Murray inclined her head. “It is good to finally meet you, Doctor. Thank you for leaving your busy work to help Lucy and ease my worry.” Her words were polite enough, but her piercing blue eyes put me in mind of a hawk, waiting for the right moment to dive on its unsuspecting prey. Clearly she was going to oversee all as a chaperone would, willing to throw away what might be medically necessary to preserve Lucy’s reputation. Yet I could not truly fault her for that, as foolish as it was. A reputation is all a woman has, after all.

I opened the work case I’d brought with me and began what exam I could. Lucy looked in good health, if her skin was a little cool, and the color in her cheeks bloodless. Her heart beat strongly to my ear, and I offered the stethoscope to Miss Murray to hear for herself, which appeared to please her greatly. I did wish to draw her blood for a more thorough check, but could find no reason that Miss Murray would likely approve of, so had to content myself with this purely physical examination. I did notice there were strange prick marks on Lucy’s neck, but when I enquired about it Miss Murray said that she’d accidentally gotten Lucy while helping to put on a shawl a few days ago. Likely the truth, though the wound seems not to have healed, strangely.

“I can find nothing physically wrong with you, which is for the best,” I assured Lucy. “Since Miss Murray mentioned sleepwalking in her letter, I believe all your physical symptoms stem from that. Which I am well equipped to handle.” I found it difficult for a moment to make myself comfortable, but soon found the spot. “I’ll need you to look deep into my eyes, Lucy. Try to ease your mind and do not fight my will when it tries to enter you.”

She nodded and proceeded to look into my eyes. Oh! I had to tear myself away from only admiring their beauty, like a forest in deep summer, and focus on my work. Taking a deep breath I began to make passes over her face with my hand as Van Helsing had taught me long ago now. Using them to channel my will into her.

After a few minutes I could tell I had succeeded, for her eyes grew hazy and unseeing. Stopping my movements I continued to look into her gaze, for tearing my eyes away would break the connection, forcing me to start again. “You are perfectly hale and hearty, Lucy. And the perfectly healthy do not sleepwalk as you do, so you will cease. You will only have nights full of deep restful sleep and no longer trouble anyone with your attempts at nightly wandering. So I say, and so it shall be.” I found it a great fight to look away from her, but I managed it, breaking the connection.

When I turned my gaze back she was still slightly woozy, but aware again. “Hopefully the hypnotism worked,” I told Miss Murray. “Though I am not as skilled as others are at the science.” Reaching into my bag I pulled out a small bottle, giving it to her. I am not sure if she can be trusted not to misuse it, but my concern for Lucy’s health overwhelmed that mistrust. “This is a chloral solution. Only a few drops,” I said this quite forcefully to make my point. “Are needed in her nightly tea, or if necessary they can be directly administered. Only resort to this if my hypnotism fails.” I thought of also suggesting she drink more liquids and eat more as well, to help with her blood; yet would such a cure be worth it if it ruined such a perfect frame? “One or the other should end her sleepwalking.”

Miss Murray gave a nod, and squirreled away the bottle somewhere in her dress. “Thank you again, Dr. Seward.” Her gaze slid past me. “Ah, hello, Helene.”

I turned in my seat, and for a moment I thought I was being tricked in some fashion, for the woman approaching could almost be Lucy’s twin. Though as she got closer I could tell her eyes were not forest green, but ocean blue; and Lucy would never wear something so out of date by choice. Though her beauty was certainly commiserate with Lucy’s. “Mina, Lucy, and who is this?” Her voluptuous red lips pursed in curiosity.

I rose and made a polite bow. “Dr. Jack Seward, of Purfleet.”

She gave a curious tilt of her head, as a cat might give a bird. “So you are here to check up on Lucy? She has not quite been herself the past day or two.” Miss Helene smiled as if making some private joke. “And I am Helene Sparta.”

“Oh, Helene,” Lucy certainly sounded like herself. “Do not be so mean to him.” Turning I could see Lucy pat the spot I had vacated. “He’s only a friend who wishes me well. Come sit.” Helene glided past me as if I were of no more concern to her. Certainly a noblewoman of some sort, I shall have to ask Arthur about her, perhaps he knows of her as I do not. Though her skin, if a pale brown, suggests a foreigner, so perhaps he would not.

Seeing as I was now unwelcome, as a good man always knows, I made my excuses and headed back down to the station.

It is late now and I am back home, there were luckily no incidents. Not even from Flyman, who has been perhaps a bit more manic these past few days, so I have had extra eyes on him in case he should try something.

I feel weary, though I am not sure I can sleep. All my thoughts consumed by Lucy and our encounter today. I know it is not possible, but I feel even more in love with her today. Perhaps, perhaps I should take some chloral myself.

No, I shall not take it tonight. For I shall not dishonor Lucy in that way. Or my own skill.

Yet if my hypnotism fails and she too is given chloral, would we not then perhaps share a dream as we have drunk from the same cup? Oh, what an agonizing thought!

* * *

Mina’s Journal, cont.

 _19, July_ —Dr. Seward has come and gone, and I am not quite sure I am as impressed with him as Lady Westenra is. True, I have no great skill or knowledge of medicine, yet the hypnotism he performed seemed like no other I’d seen done before. I will have to trust he knows what he’s about. Lucy, at least, took little encouragement to eat and drink more, especially with Helene aiding me. Lady Westenra frowned some, but Kate found it quite hilarious to find out Lucy had already consumed the last of the chocolate by the time she arrived to visit us for the day.

I have the chloral hidden away, so that no one else might use it. For now Lucy sleeps quite soundly, so I shall hope all is well.


	41. Mina's Journal, cont; 20, July

_20, July_ —I have hope again! Even as it came from such an unlikely source.

Lucy’s sleep in the night was restless, but she did not sleep walk, so if it can be attributed to Dr. Seward he did a half-good job, but I shall have to be satisfied with it. Shall still keep watch, however.

Our morning was a peaceful one, with another letter from Mr. Holmwood, telling us he would arrive back in Whitby tomorrow, with his sister and possibly Mr. Morris accompanying. Lucy was in much delight of this, promising I’d find Mr. Morris to be an entertaining and pleasing companion. I think she is trying to keep my spirits up, for the longer I go without hearing from Johnathan, the more I fear I will do something desperate and unseemly, and damn the consequences.

We took a turn about Whitby, Kate joining us as we began ascending the steps to the kirk.

“Honestly, one might come up here and see a different world every day,” she declared.

Lucy was more in agreement than I, though I can’t deny the view is always pleasing and interesting.

As seemed to be her wont, Helene soon joined us, by now I do not find her arachaic dress strange, just another part of her whole. She happily drank the tea Lucy served, but said quite plainly she wasn’t hungry. She told us a few more tales of her travels, this time of the Netherlands. We were whiling away many a good hour when she stiffened, her eyes fixed on something behind me.

We all turned to look, of course. Easily spotting three figures walking towards us, which soon resolved themselves into two women and a man. They were all fashionably dressed, and similarly featured enough to be family: pale skin, dark hair, and equally dark eye.

When they were only a short distance away, the youngest looking of the women rushed to us, seeming not to care of propriety. “Oh, Helene! It is so good to see you again after so long.” Despite her reaction to their appearance, Helene returned the young woman’s hug warmly. “We were quite worried about you.”

Helene let out a delicate snort, which I likely think she would have prefered to be a true laugh. “It is good to see you again as well, Hajni. I guess it falls to me to do introductions.” She straightened, looking more like she might go into battle, her blue eyes firmly meeting those of the man who now patiently waited a few steps away. “Lucy, Mina, Kate, these are my...cousins,”—now that I recount this, it such a strange pause!—“The Ladies Piroska and Hajnalka Dănești, and their brother Mircea Dănești, Prince Dracula.”

She must have finished introductions, I certainly have a faint memory of curtsying at one point, but all my mind could think of that these were clearly the Dănești Johnathan had spoken of! And unlike the drowning man, I would not forsake this offer of help from fate or God, or whomever has chosen to smile upon me. I only needed a brief opportunity where I might catch his Highness alone.

Oh, God and the Saints bless Lucy too! For she must have recalled this as well, and asked if the Dănești had been in Whitby long, and if they might wish a tour about the town.

Lady Piroska admitted they had only shortly arrived, and were here for business not pleasure, but would appreciate the tour nonetheless.

My heart could have leapt for joy at her words. Thus arranged, we packed up our picnic and began another stroll about the town, the Dănești drawing quite a few eyes.

I drew back some, hoping my gaze or some subtle action of mine might encourage the Prince to do the same, so that we might have a more private conversation. My hope bore fruit, for only a short moment after I slowed, he joined me.

“Miss Murray,” his voice was quite cultured, with only a faint whisper of other lands. “Might I say it is quite pleasing to meet you in the flesh, Johnathan spoke highly and often of you.” I could feel a blush rising to my cheeks at his words. “Might I enquire where your fiance is? I hand hoped we would see each other again now that I am in England?”

His question made my heart sink, for clearly he did not more than I. Despite struggling mightily against it, I could feel myself begin to cry. Only to be shocked out of it by the feel of cold fingers wiping them away from my cheeks. “Tell me.” I could tell then why he was a Prince, for with that commanding tone, how could I not tell him all?

By the time I finished I found myself strangely tranquil, as if I had dammed it all up inside me and after the torrent of the dam breaking the river ran smooth.

The Prince’s own expression was thunderous for a moment, before it vanished like an errant breeze. “Your words trouble me greatly, Miss Murray. For I know Johnathan left my home at the beginning of June, and he was quite eager to return home, and to you most of all. That is not the sort of man who would change his mind so quickly and seek to linger in the wonders of Europe. I will not forbid you to worry, for it is a sign of your love and devotion, but I swear to you I shall send my people out to look for him. Hopefully to find him still among the living.” He knelt, as if he were some knight about to accept a favor from his lady, and I blushed greatly, relieved the street we were on was more empty than most. “This I promise. And I shall write to you every day, so you shall know of all I do. Is that acceptable to you, Miss Murray?”

I told him it was, and perhaps a bit rudely I suggested he stand quickly, so that passersby might not get the wrong impression.

“Apologies.” He stood, and offered me his arm. “I do believe Piri is a little cross with me as well.” His smile was almost boyish.

Looking ahead I could see that Lady Piroska had indeed turned her eye to us, her expression hawkish at this distance. 

The Prince and I rejoined the others and I let myself get pulled into a conversation of what might be done in London. At least until the Dănești and Helene departed, though not before Helene said her farewells, promising to see us all in London.

Despite our introductions being not quite proper, Sir Morton and Lady Westenra were quite in awe of the fact Lucy and I had met royalty, as Lucy recounted all over dinner.

Now Lucy is curled up in sleep, quite soundly from what I can tell. While now all I can do is wait and hope that the Prince finds Johnathan quickly. 


	42. Seward's Phonograph; 21, July

Renfield has had another turn, it seems. Around eight o’clock tonight he began to grow excited, sniffing about as a dog might. I know this from the keepers, who have noted my interest in Renfield and keep a closer eye on him than others. The keeper who spoke with me said he did his best to encourage flyman to speak. But all the madman would say is this: “You don’t count, not when the angel is at hand, leave us!”

Apparently Renfield thinks himself above us all now, and is not afraid to show it! Clearly his mania has turned religious via some unknown trigger. Must try to hunt that down, but also needs must watch flyman, for a homicidal or religious maniac might be dangerous, but the combination of both is truly dreadful.

Wanting to see this new change for myself, I went down to visit him about nine. Indeed, he is more haughty, for he treated me the same as he’d treated the keeper. He is in such a ‘sublime’ state that all are equal below him. He thinks he is being visited by an angel now, but how soon shall that religious mania turn him into thinking he is a god? Thinking all men are one, with no true difference. Which give the lie to the idea: for God would weep at the death of a sparrow, while the god men seek to become will call an eagle a sparrow and give it seed. 

For half an hour Renfield grew more and more excited, I do not think he even noticed I remained. That zeal consuming him. Yet it is clear he expected something to happen, and as it had not, nor would it, for it is all in his head, he gained a shifty look. As all his kind do when they are planning something. He became quiet then, sitting on the edge of his bed, and looking quite mournful. All of which was likely false.

Though he held to it, even as I pressed him about his pets, he has once more returned to spiders. He has always happily talked about them before, but tonight would not reply for the longest time. Until, rather irately, he said: “What does it matter? I don’t care a pin about them anymore.”

I was rightly shocked, for this has been his fixation almost since arriving here. That he has changed so quickly is concerning, and I really must find the cause of it. Perhaps taking it away shall return him to what he once was, and reintroducing it will bring him to this, must test. “What do you mean?” For I needed to ask, perhaps in his rambling I would find some clue.

His answer was far too enigmatic for him. “Upon seeing the bridesmaids you are happy, for they are pretty as flowers, but when the bride appears you spare not a thought for the flowers, for she is the sun which all need.” 

I tried to get him to explain, but this new form of him is too stubborn to answer. Haughtily paying me no mind and only staring out the window for the rest of the time I was there.


	43. Phonograph, journal; 22, July

I am almost too tired to look at the clock to know the time. It has clearly been too long since I have had a good adventure, for this sorely tested me tonight.

I was woken late in the night by the night-watchman, for my flyman had escaped! I at once dressed and went down to his cell to investigate. There was a keeper waiting for me, who explained it all: not ten minutes ago all seemed well when he checked on Renfield, the man seeming asleep on his bed. Only just a minute ago did he hear a racket and rush to see what had happened, finding the window bars torn out and Renfield rushing away towards Carfax.

What strength madmen have! I sent the watchman to gather a few men to follow me via the main door, while I had the keeper help me through the window, to better catch up. The keeper directed me the way Renfield had run and I rushed as best I could, eventually breaking through the trees and spotting him scaling the tall wall that separates us from Carfax.

I had to rush back, meeting the watchmen and his people, instructing one to get a ladder for us. We waited for him at the wall, when at once we heard an outcry in Carfax, to my surprise. Which one of the keepers noticed, explaining to me that a few days ago there was activity on the grounds there, people having apparently moved in.

Oh God’s blood and Christ, if flyman has managed to kill someone it might be the end of me. Though it was clear that the people who chose Carfax as their home might not be all there themselves, for if they chose to reside next to an asylum they must resign themselves to the occasional escape.

The ladder finally arrived and I was the first over. Rushing towards the cacophony of sound. Which led us around the house, before it died away, though there was light now so we could see the scene quite well.

There were a few wagons scattered about, and dark burly men were trussing up the now naked Renfield quite easily. From the house, and a nearby wagon, we could hear the sharp, nagging voices of angry women, though they spoke no language I knew.

“What’s all this?” I shouted out in my best voice. For clearly I was the only one capable of being in control of this situation. All of those around the wagons turned to me, showing off their sharp features, and poor clothing. A band of thieving wanderers, which relieved me, better vagrants than actual residents.

One of their number, the gilt embroidery on his jacket marking him as their leader, and of poor taste, approached. “Is this man one of yours?” Not only was the man’s face lupine, but his voice was too, all sly and lilting, and not the least bit respectful.

“He is, and I would have you release him so my men can return him to a cell,” I kept my voice firm as I would with a woman or child.

The man did not turn, but said something in their language. Two of the hulking men brought Renfield over, but did not untie him. Which granted, did make it easier for the keepers to get a hold of the man and begin to carry him. Renfield begging to be let go all the while.

“You should watch your patients more carefully,” the leader told me. “He knocked over poor Elizabet so fiercely we fear she may have lost her babe,” his expression managed to show grave concern. “He was trying to get to the chapel here, so clearly you should let him pray in yours, yes? Then he might not try ours again.”

Ours? The gall of him. I gave him a tight smile, and even managed to thank him for the advice, though it was all great nonsense. I departed out the main gate and returned to the asylum.

Flyman is safe now, caught up in a straightjacket as a fly gets caught up in a spider’s web. Not only that but he is chained to the wall of his new padded room, for he thrashes about with deadly intent. Coherence seems lost to him, with his desire having been thwarted by the wanderers.

Speaking of, once the police station opens in the morning, I shall go down to file a complaint about them. Just because no one wishes to live in Carfax does not mean vagrants such as them may settle there.

* * *

Mina’s journal, cont.

 _22, July_ —Lucy slept even better still last night! Clearly she has reached some turn and there must only be improvement ahead. Aided greatly, I’m sure, by the return of Mr. Holmwood, with his expected guests.

Lucy is right about Mr. Morris, at the least, he is quite charming and entertaining. Upon meeting me he gave a courtly bow and declared me “more glowing than a firefly,” and that if I were a true friend of Lucy’s than I needs must consider him a true friend as well. All of which seemed to amuse Lucy greatly. Perhaps if I had not experienced the Prince’s display the other day, I would have blushed at Mr. Morris’ little dramatics. As it were they were at least in earnest.

Speaking of the Prince, as he promised he has written to me, though it is not much. Only to tell me he has sent notice to his people back in Transylvania to hunt for any sign of Johnathan, and that he’d written to Mr. Hawkins to explain the situation, with the hope the man will take Johnathan back in when he is found. Which is far more than I thought the Prince would do, but gladdens me all the same.

Hopefully soon there will be some news.


	44. Letter from Dracula to Dr. Seward; 23, July

Dear sir,

We have not yet had the occasion to meet, yet I must write to you anyways. For the Purfleet Police contacted me in regards to your complaint at Carfax. These ‘vagrants’ as you called them, are my servants, there at my behest. I would kindly ask that you do not deride them again, and afford them the respect they are due as such.

You should count yourself lucky that Elizabet and her child live and are well, for if they had perished I would not be so kind and courteous to you, in word or deed. I should hope by the time my family and I arrive at Carfax, you will have better control of your patients. For if the like happens again, I shall not write.

Prince Dracula


	45. Mina's Journal, cont; 25, July

_25, July_ —Joy, joy, joy! I cannot believe I can contain it all inside me!

As promised, His Highness has kept me updated on his search for Johnathan, although until today nothing has much come from it. Save for the other day when a man matching Johnathan’s description had been spotted in Klausenberg in the middle of June. Though I had hoped it was not him, for the attendant spoke of him being quite menacing and desperate as he raved and demanded a ticket away. I am surprised though that they gave him a ticket, and did not try to have him arrested there and then. Though perhaps I should be grateful as well.

The ticket was for Budapest, which the Prince then set his men to comb with diligence. And oh! They have found him! I leave tomorrow to fetch him, with Lucy, Kate, and even Mr. Holmwood wishing me much luck. I am all aflutter with excitement to see him again, and worry too, for the letter from the hospital hints at dark things. Oh, Johnathan, what has happened to you?

* * *

_24, July_

Dear Madam,

I wish I could have written to you much sooner than I now am, yet I fear to say that until Mr. Blumenthal contact us on behalf of his employer, inquiring if we had a man of certain description, we did not know anything about this patient of ours, not even his name. Since all we could tell was that he was British we had taken to calling him London, and he has never corrected us, as if his sickness has prevented him from even remembering that.

Yet we now know it is confirmed that he is one Mr. Johnathan Harker, your fiancé. He has been in our care these past five weeks with a fierce brain fever. Caused by some fearful shock—so says our doctor—and when he is delirious he raves mightly of blood and bones, and of ghosts and teeth. Thankfully we are all stout of heart here at the hospital and so are not too bothered by such things.

Be assured that we are taking the best of care with him, moreso now thanks to the instruction of Mr. Blumenthal, who has settled all accounts and told us that you will likely come yourself soon to collect him. Hopefully by then Mr. Harker will be well and overjoyed to see your face, Miss Murray. I pray to God and all the Saints that it will be so.

Yours, with sympathy and all blessings.

Sister Agatha

* * *

Thankfully it will not take me long to get to Budapest. It will be the first time I have left England and that only adds to my worry. I shall have to pray as Sister Agatha did, that all will be well, and trust it to be so.

The Prince added his own note to say this was the original, and that he’d had a copy sent on to Mr. Hawkins, as explanation for Johnathan’s disappearance. It do not trust that it will make things perfect, but it is much to setting them aright.


	46. Seward's phonograph, cont; 26, July

Flyman’s curiosity grows in leaps and bounds. It is enough that I am tempted to call for help. Perhaps my old Professor would have some insight or advice that would help me greatly, although it is not Van Helsing’s way to give one the answer, only lead them to it, however forcefully. It is something to think on. If things change more I think I shall.

Back to Flyman: his passion has quieted so much since his escape it is as if he is a different man, there are even periods of true peace, or at least as much peace as a madman might have. It just seemed to be that tonight as the moon rose he grew quiet, the keepers telling me all he would say is: “I can wait, now I can wait.”

I was, of course, fetched at this new change. He was still in his strait-waistcoat in the padded room, but the rage and determination he has so far had, had now gone from his face. His eyes once again the usual pleading—although perhaps ‘servile’ is more fitting—softness. This satisfied me greatly, and I ordered the keepers to free him. Which they did reluctantly, their fear is understandable, but laughable nonetheless.

Flyman noticed their distrust as well, and seemed in good humor about it, shuffling over to me once he was free and saying, sotto voce, as he looked at them in askance: “They think I could hurt you. The fools! Fancy  _ me _ hurting  _ you _ !”

It is pleasing to the mind to know I am so removed from the others, even in the mind of a madman. He is right, of course, though I cannot follow  _ his _ line of reasoning. Does he think us the same? Or does he recognize somehow that I seek to be his salvation and so even as most revels in madness, the tiny sliver of sanity he has left clings to me? Or perhaps it is only that all his victims so far have been women, and he will not harm a fellow male?

I wish I could give the answer now, but must try to pry the answer out of him at some later date. Not even the promise of a cat or kitten could sway him to speak. “Pish, who would bother with a cat now? I have more to think of now, I can wait, I  _ can _ .”

Soon after I returned to my room to record this entry. That is the door… Yes, Hennessey?

“Sir, it’s Mr. Renfield…”

_ Recording cuts off here _ .


	47. Mina's Journal, cont; 27, July

_28, July_ —Despite no longer being in Whitby I have decided to continue this journal, as a test of my skills, and as a record, though of what I could not quite say.

My journey to Budapest feels all a blur, which does not justice to the places I traveled through, but is the truth. While His Highness did not pay for my train passage, he did arrange my lodging and I am greatly in his debt for I am not sure I could have properly focused on such things.

Once in Budapest I followed the directions given to me and arrived at a convent, the one attached to the very same hospital Johnathan is being kept at! So I know if anything should happen I will not have to wait long to be told of it.

The Mother Superior met me at the door and greeted me warmly, clearly approving of my devotion to Johnathan as she led me to my room and told me of the rules: curfew being at nine P.M., when meals were served, and when services were—to my surprise she invited me to join should I feel so inclined, despite them being Catholic and I Anglican.

I thanked her for all her kindness to myself and to Johnathan, and after placing my things in the little cell, I asked to be taken to Johnathan.

Oh, I smear my ink again, but I cannot stop my tears.

Johnathan, oh my dear Johnathan. Perhaps one day you will read these words of mine, and I hope you do not feel stung by my pity, for it comes from my love and concern from you.

He is so very thin and pale now, but it is not only color that has been leached from him, but resolution and quiet dignity too. He’d clearly ceased to care about his appearance as well, for his hair was unkempt and he had the beginnings of a full beard on his face. I could not help but begin to cry, the sound of which drew his attention from the window he’d been staring out of to me and Sister Agatha, who was a dear soul and drew away to give us privacy.

Johnathan’s eyes widened and the shock and joy in his face upon seeing me did my poor heart good—for there has been a quiet fear in my heart that perhaps he had not loved me anymore, and that was the reason for his vanishing.

Perhaps it was impolite that he yanked me towards him, but I was just as eager to hold him again as he was me. Even if the surroundings were alien, the familiarity of him holding me, face buried in my hair is home in a way.

He began to cry as well, and we would have been a sight, had there been anyone around to see us. I am not sure whose body gave out first, but we both eventually sank to the floor, Johnathan’s head ending in my lap as I stroked his hair and soothed him, still crying myself.

I strangely hope this is what absolution feels like; the scrubbing raw of a heart and soul, to be started anew. For it swept through us both, taking our disparate parts and making us one, as if this were our true marriage and not a reunion. We did not speak, but words were too poor a thing to convey what passed between us, a communication on a spiritual level.

“Oh, Mina,” his voice! Hoarse and raw, but still his voice. His eyes still brimmed with tears as he righted himself, moving close again to rest his forehead against mine, his fingers cupping my cheeks—I felt a strange band of coolness, but at the time paid it no mind. “Mina, Mina, Mina.”

My smile was perhaps not bright, but I do not think he minded. “Johnathan, I’m sorry I did not come sooner, my love.”

He shook his head, and we spoke of seemingly nothing. When I tried to ask him about his trip he grew fainter and quiet, shaking his head again and claiming he did not remember. I fear he does, but will not share it with me yet.

I stopped asking after the first few inquiries, not wishing him further harm, and hoping talking of other things might help him start to heal.

We spoke until Sister Agatha interrupted us, her expression apologetic, telling me it would soon be curfew, and there was food in the kitchens I could take to my cell should I choose to.

Johnathan said our tearful goodbyes, and I promised I would return tomorrow to talk more. As I followed Sister Agatha to the kitchens I tried to ask her what she might know of Johnathan’s illness, for it is clear she is his main caretaker here.

But she only shook her head, her words kind but firm as she said what she had heard Johnathan raving about was between him and God, and that she would honor that trust. I do admire her for it now, but at that moment I could only feel frustration.

I have eaten, and written everything down. Tomorrow Johnathan and I shall speak more, and I shall try to enquire about how I might go about getting us married, for I find I do not wish to wait any longer than I already have.


	48. Seward's Phonograph, cont; 29 July

The past three days have all been the same for my Flyman: at night he is quiet, then at sunrise he becomes violent, until he wears himself out into a coma of sorts. It is strange, and I wish I could surmise the cause, or influence. Perhaps it is from a desire thwarted…

Ah! A thought! If it is a desire thwarted then we shall see it through. If he seeks to reach the chapel in Carfax, then we shall let him. He managed to escape without our help, so it should be far easier for him when we do help. But the vagrants...ay, there’s the rub.

I shall have to endevor to meet this ‘Prince’ they are in service of, though I do not know of any true royalty who would mix with such a class. It would take me but a moment to deduce whether he is true royalty, or is only a self-styled one. The above associate inclines me to the latter, but I cannot know for true until we have met.

Either way, the vagrants will not likely let Flyman through, not even if I sought to bribe them. So I must find some way to distract them from the chapel long enough for Renfield to reach it. I _must_ know why he seeks it.

Afternoon update: “The unexpected always happens.” So Disraeli says, and so it is true. We gave Flyman every opportunity this day to escape, but not a one did he take, as if he knows somehow that it is planned. I had hoped he would take the offer, for during the day the vagrants are wont to be vacant from Carfax, though even as evening falls there are fewer than usual, which, regardless of everything else, is for the best. Hennessy again, ah! Flyman has flown! My gun I think will be useful…

Later: So it seemed that Flyman waited until the keeper came in the evening to loosen his bonds, as it has been proven we could do so without harm. He slipped past the keeper and dashed down the hall, calling out to his ‘angel.’ I had Hennessy go fetch more keepers, while I followed Flyman myself, a much easier task this time since we knew where he would go.

Indeed we did find Renfield curled up at the door to the chapel, murmuring and stroking it like one would a cat. He fought violently when the keepers tried to pull him away, so much so that I thought to use my gun to threaten him into submission. Until all at once he grew calm, which almost frightened more than his violence. I sought to follow his gaze, and saw a woman watching us from the windows of Carfax. 

Flyman went with us meekly.

Despite her blonde hair I suspect she was one of the vagrants and that the ‘Prince’ will soon hear of this adventure. So I am not sure what little I have discovered will be worth the repercussions...but then again, great men in power have always feared the greater mind, so I must hold firm…

Addendum: upon further reflection I have realized the woman I spotted in the window is the same Lady Helene whom Lucy introduced to me in Whitby. If my fears are correct I should warn Arthur, in case dear Lucy has been targeted by con-artists of some sort.


	49. Mina's journal, cont; 30, July

_30, July_ —Despite all my hopes, my request for a marriage has been denied, and now I must wait, as displeasing a thought as it is. Thankfully I did not share this idea with Johnathan, as I’d hoped it to be a surprise, so I do not need mention it when I go to see him after breakfast.

_Later_ —It seems as if I was not the only one with a plan, for when I went to Johnathan’s room with Sister Agatha his expression was grave. Sister Agatha gave us the room, taking up her station outside, with the door slightly ajar so she might hear any errant sound.

I sat on the bed next to Johnathan, who took my hands in his, and met my eyes with his own. All over he already looks better, he has bathed again, and thankfully shaved off all his beard, but there is color in his cheeks again too. It is perhaps too prideful to attribute this all to my arrival.

“Mina, I know before I left you agreed to be my wife.” My heart began to sink. “But before we are bound in an unbreakable way, I think you must know what sort of man I am.” Slowly, and with great care, he pulled away and stood, shuffling over to his jacket—one of the few things he’d still had on him—his ruby and gold ring flashing in the sunlight. I had asked him about it yesterday, for he had not had it before. But like all questions about his time in Transylvania, he will not answer; yet it must be important to him, if he managed to keep it through his misadventures and not lose it to a bandit or pawnshop.

From the inner pocket of his jacket he pulled out the journal I bought him, it seems like so long ago now. Despite his best efforts he could not hold back the soft sound of relief when he sat. He pressed the journal into my hands. “Read it, Mina. Read it and know all. And if you wish for this to be the end, then I shall respect that and trouble you no more.”

I stared at the cover, my thumb rubbing one of the colorful whorls. I certainly knew what was inside, all his trials and tribulations, with nothing held back. And yet, despite my early desire to know, I could only feel one thing at the moment.

“Might I have your ring for a moment, Johnathan?” He seemed surprised by my request, but he gave it over a few seconds later. I thanked him and left the room.

I asked Sister Agatha if I might have some thick paper, ribbon, and wax. Taking my promise that I would not enter into Johnathan’s room while she was gone, she hurried away.

All while I was alone I looked at the journal, wondering what might be inside to make Johnathan act so. An affair? Murder? Or had his brain fever magnified even the smallest detail out of proportion and there was nothing more terrible than crushing a spider? I held firm against this new rush of thoughts, however.

Sister Agatha returned, and even brought a candle for the wax, which I had forgotten. She helpfully worked with me to get it right. I do not know where she found red wax in a convent, but I could have kissed her for it. And while the dragon carved into the ruby was not a true crest to push into the wax, it held well enough, though the design looked almost tiny against the blob of wax we’d had to put to hold the ribbon together.

It must have been quite the sight to see myself and Agatha blowing and fanning our hands towards the wax, trying to get it to cool faster. After a few minutes though I felt confident it would not tear or break and clutching my new package and the ring, I returned to Johnathan.

Who did not seem to know what to make of his changed journal when I pressed it back into his own hands. “Mina?”

“I know the past is important,” now that I’d begun to speak, I felt the words tumble from me without thought. “And perhaps one day I will open this and read it. But for now it is my wedding gift to you, Johnathan. That we might let the past lie and only think of your future, _our_ future. Together.”

Oh, I know it is not done, but I could not help myself! I knelt, offering his own ring back to him. “I would still have you, Johnathan Edward Harker. If you would consent to being my husband.” Perhaps one day it will not seem a shock that a woman proposes to a man, but I could tell now that I had taken him greatly aback.

His hands shook greatly as he took the ring back, slipping it onto the proper finger. He was crying again, and he did not fight when I joined him and pulled him to me. “I do, Mina, I do.”


	50. Lucy Westenra's Diary; 1, August

_(written in shorthand)_

_1, A_ —It is a new month, and with Mina still away in Budapest, it feels only right that I take up her work in a way. Though I have had no need until now to come up with a private shorthand of my own, so I shall have to write in the one they taught us in school until I can devise one. Though it is such slow writing, Mina does it so quickly that it seems as natural as breathing. But I must not be jealous, she has been writing in hers and Johnathan’s shorthand since our school days, when love letters would have been prime gossip had they been written in English.

Outside my window I can hear singing, if slightly drunken. It’s no surprise that the celebrations for Princess Louise’s wedding have spilled over to today. It must have been magical to see, I wonder if Helene went to see it, her cousin is a prince himself after all.

I did not realize how easy it would be to natter on about unimportant things in one's diary, not that Helene could ever be considered unimportant, though I guess one writes whatever one wishes to. Though with all I wish to write, and until I make it less understandable, I shall have to make sure this is well hidden, for _I_ shall be prime gossip otherwise.

I cannot say I am _compelled_ to write all, but I also feel I must, to keep it all straight in my head, to perhaps try and make sense of what I am doing, and what might have to come next. For I fear it will be a choice I cannot make again, and I do not know which is the right one.

Whitby has been so lovely, and Uncle Morty as kind as always. Having Arthur here made it even more delightful. I perhaps did not show him _all_ my childhood haunts, but I am certain after the time he has spent here, he loves Whitby as much as I do. I was much saddened when he left, and while I wish it weren’t so, I am unsurprised that I began sleepwalking again—though I am happy to say it has stopped. I have not yet confided this part of me to Arthur, but I fear I must if it comes back again. He is to be my husband after all, and should know that his future wife wanders without her knowing.

Finding the brooch after the storm seems like such a shallow thing to brighten one’s day, but it did; and it is now my favorite piece, I wear it as much as I am able. Though mama frowns so, for she thinks it not in good taste to wear the same thing every day. Perhaps it is a bore, but I do not care.

Now come those parts where I am not sure what is what and I know whose feet the blame lies upon.

Helene, Helene, Helene!

Even writing her name makes my heart race and my belly flutter. She is as if a painting by some great Master has come to life to grace my life, for reasons I cannot understand. I could not say what drew me to her at the tea house, it wasn’t just those old ladies gossiping. It was if I had no true choice in the matter, as if God or some Angel were drawing us together.

Then there is That Night…

I am truly sorry it troubled Mina so, she already had so much to worry about, and I did not mean to add to it. It perhaps began as sleepwalking, but by the time I was halfway up the steps to the kirk I was well awake and aware of what was going on.

Helene stood there at the gate though, my living painting. She smiled like the sun and said my name, and I did not wish to resist her.

She drew me into her arms, and I was greatly shocked when my back hit the stone wall and she kissed me as a man might! Though not even Arthur has dared such with me yet, mamma too terrifying a chaperone, and Kate and Mary too prone to gossip. Perhaps if Mina were in better spirits she would have allowed it.

Helene did not seem to mind my inexperience, demonstrating what all one could do when only lips and tongues were involved. I am blushing now even to recall it.

I let her lead me deeper into the cemetery, until we reached that seat Mr. Swales terrified me of. Helene was the greater power though, and I let her draw me down onto it, onto her lap. “An empty grave cannot hurt you, my little sun.” As it is _she_ who is the sun, I am not sure how I feel that she calls me so—sometimes it is ‘my light,’ or ‘my sunbeam,’ but it is always the same theme—for there cannot be two suns.

She kissed me again, her lips moving from my mouth to my cheeks, fluttering against their blushing heat. As her head moved lower, one of her arms braced against my back, and the other drifted down my front, doing things I dare not recount. Better fit for books I should know nothing about than a lady’s diary. As she did this she kissed my throat, a brief flare of pain filling me as her teeth sank deep, soon swept away by the other sensations overwhelming me.

When she finished I felt as languorous and lazy as a cat, and she must have known Mina was coming, for she only kissed me again and laid me out on the seat, promising to see me again.

I cannot believe that she was only here for the span of five days, it has felt like a lifetime. Her walking with us during the day and recounting lands and people I could have never conceived of, and at night—though not every night—she’d come to me. She did not always kiss and touch me, sometimes we only spoke, and she would say how much she loved and adored me, words that terrified and excite me even now.

One evening she was even so bold to scale the house like some romantic hero in a play! I laughed and chided her for it, but she seemed not to care. Pulling me close and nuzzling my blushing cheeks, I think she likes most best any part of me that is blushing. This time I managed to ask her about it.

“To see such blood and life in you still, little light, is a great pleasure,” she murmured. I let her pull me close and reclaim her mark on my throat. When she finished _I_ pulled her to me, kissing _her_. Her shock pleased me greatly and I could not help but grin broadly when we parted. “Such a bold little sunbeam,” she seemed pleased by it. Her face soon grew serious however, her sharp teeth biting her lip. “Do you love me, little light, darling Lucy?”

I told her I did, and I so dearly do. What I feel for her is equal to what I feel for Arthur, though I have known her less. How could I not love her?

Blood beaded against her lips, so close to the color of them that once scarcely noticed. “Then kiss me again, Lucy, make the choice and be with me.”

Her words did frighten, but I kissed her again.

The taste of blood all too soon washed away by the taste of her.

When she pulled away she truly was the sun. “Only call, Lucy, and I will come, no matter how far apart we may be.”

Then she left, Mina rushing into the room a few heartbeats later. I had swooned some at Helene’s words and the kiss, so dear Mina must have thought me ill. Which I decided not to gainsay.

Then it was almost as if she never was, swept away by her cousins back to London. The Prince and his sisters are delightfully curious, and I am all too glad the Prince offered his help to Mina in finding Johnathan, though it seemed to make Helene quite cross. Hajni seemed to find it a delight, while Piri—they inisited I call them such, though we had only just met—seemed to regard it with fond bemusement.

I have not tried to call Helene, I am half afraid it will work, half afraid it will not. Kate is good company, but she is no Mina. I cannot hate Mina for rushing away to Budapest though, not when I would do the same if I’d heard news of Arthur, or Helene…

Oh! Months ago I was so cavalier as to suggest marrying more than one man. Though I only wished it because I did not want to disappoint a one of them, and perhaps not out of true love. I wish I could take that back now, because _now_ I wish I could say it, and mean it. A woman cannot marry a man _and_ a woman, though I wish it could be so. Then perhaps I would not feel this awful guilt, for I feel as if my love of Helene betrays my love for Arthur. And to choose one over the other feels like the greatest of sins.

It seems all too right that Jenny, the maid, has stopped by to tell me Arthur and Mary are now here. So I must compose myself and away. Until next time diary.


	51. Mina Murray's journal; 2, August

_2, August_ —I’m surprised at how strange it feels to be in London again, after so long away. It is the good sort of strangeness I hope, that all that was once old will now seem new and fresh.

Johnathan seems in far better health since my proposal, and moreso since we left Budapest, as if leaving the Continent helped him shake off something. He has gone to speak with Mr. Hawkins to make right these past few months, and afterwards to go about arranging our marriage.

Marriage! Oh, I know it will not be for a week at least yet, but that it now can be so thrills me. I have had to tender at the school, of course, but I will have Johnathan’s work, and likely children soon enough, to keep me occupied. Though I do feel some regret at having to leave my own work, for as awful as the girls can be sometimes I do have a fondness for them.

Thankfully the school will let me stay in my rooms until the wedding, though I’ve started to arrange for most to be sent on to Johnathan’s apartment. Which will suit for now, but we will have to likely move to larger accommodations soon.

Speaking of my things: I stopped by Hillingham during my own errands today. Mostly to check if Lucy had yet returned. Mr. Peters told me they had not, but they would be back some time tomorrow, and that Lucy had smartly sent my baggage on, which I thankfully collected.

Back on the street I was starting to call a hack, when an elegant black carriage slowed, then stopped completely. A pale, dark haired woman sticking her head out the window. “Mina!”

I gave a small start, then realized the woman was Lady Piroska. It was a bit awkward to curtsy while still trying to hold my luggage, but I did well enough.

“Come, come, stop that, there’s no need for that when we are friends. Would you like some tea? My home is not far from here.” I let her lure me into the carriage, barely feeling it when it started up again. “I hope all is well with you, Mina.”

I thanked her, and said that all _was_ good. Before I could try and continue the conversation we came to a stop, the coachman getting the door for us. Lady Piroska thanked him as we stepped out in front of a neat townhouse. I made to grab my bags, but she stopped me. “You can take the carriage home once we are finished, I assure you they’ll come to no harm.” Again, I let her lead me away. The door opened, and we were greeted by a stout man in a suit.

“Welcome back, my lady”

“Thank you, Mr. Sayre. I’ll need tea brought up for Miss Murray in the solar.” She led me on as the man bowed and headed to the kitchens. We traveled up a few flights of stairs until we were almost at the roof. The room we stepped into in the back was most pleasing: two of the walls, and even part of the roof were made of glass, allowing a pleasing view of Highgate and the moors beyond. There were a few plants scattered about, but most of the space was given over to seating arrangements, making it a place more for entertaining than gardening.

We sat, and soon after a maid stepped in carrying a tray. Lady Piroska thanked her by name and excused her, pouring my tea herself. She waved off my insistance she join me. “I had tea with some other ladies only an hour ago and could not eat again so soon, so feel no guilt. Tell me, how is Mr. Harker? I hope he is well also.”

I gave her a broad sketch of what I knew, though did not suggest Johnathan’s amnesia might be affected and not true, her face growing grave and sad the more I spoke.

“That he doesn’t remember is saddening. He was a good guest, helpful and agreeable. We perhaps were not as good hosts as we should have been, but we did our best. I hope he recovers, and does not think too ill of us. Mircea had greatly hoped to see him again.”

It took me a second to realize she was speaking of the Prince, and I thanked her for their concern. I question nagged at me, and perhaps it was a little rude to ask, but I felt I needed to, for my own peace of mind. “Lady Piroska, please don’t take this the wrong way, but was Lady Helene at the castle with you?”

Lady Piroska laughed, bright and airy. “Please, call me Piri, we may not know each other awfully well, but I consider you a friend. As for Helene, yes, she was. Why do you ask?”

Her candor surprised me, but perhaps that is their way. She certainly did not act as I expected royalty might. I explained that if Helene had known about Johnathan, why had she not said anything during her time at Whitby, for despite myself I had not hid my worry for him as well as I could have. Helene had not even revealed her relation to the Dănești until they had arrived to collect her.

Piri...that will take some getting used to in writing and in thought, leaned back in her chair. From somewhere a cat wandered to her and leapt into her lap, which she began to pet. “She may not have known. Mr. Harker showed your portrait only to Mircea, Hajni, and myself. She was somewhat antagonistic towards him as well.” At my confusion, Piri continued. “She did not want us to leave Transylvania, but she has changed her tune since, as you would say. Did Johnathan not write a journal? I saw him writing in a little notebook various times over his stay.”

I explained that he did still have the journal, but I’d promised not to read it unless I had no other choice.

Piri reached out, taking my hands in her cold ones. “You are a good a true woman, and Johnathan is a lucky man in having you as his bride-to-be. I hope it is not too forward in hoping we might be invited to the wedding?”

It _was_ forward, but again, it seemed so in tune with the rest of her that I found myself hardly offended. I said I would have to ask Johnathan, but I did not see why it could not be so. The Prince has been such a great help to me, without him I certainly would not have my Johnathan again. And perhaps there was a bit of vanity at the thought of having royalty at my wedding.

We passed another hour or so in pleasant conversation, and by the end I felt as if we truly were friends. Perhaps not as close as Lucy and I were, but I did not doubt I would return here as a guest again. Eventually I made my excuses, and Piri was kind enough to see me out. The carriage was waiting as she’d promised, and I felt very strange riding in it as we entered my neighborhood. Thankfully the school year had not started, so I only had to deal with looks from the ground staff and a few of the teachers as I stepped off.

I did not truly unpack my bags, only sorting through them to pick out what I truly wanted to have with me, the rest to be sent on. 

_Later_ —Have just returned from dinner with Johnathan. He is relieved to find he still has his job, and that he has arranged all for the wedding, which he says will take place on the ninth! Oh! Already I find myself counting the days, perhaps even the minutes.

I recounted to him my own day, and while he hesitated some when I mentioned Piri, he otherwise showed no sign that he knew who I was speaking of. Though he did still when I mentioned they wished to be at the wedding.

“You may invite who you wish,” is all he finally said.

The journal is tucked away in his apartment, which is for the best, for already I am sorely tempted.


	52. Seward's phonograph, Lucy's diary; 3, August

My Flyman changes yet again, or perhaps, more likely, whatever cycle he goes through has finally ended, to begin again. For he has once more sought to collect flies, and he must be eating them—though we have found no extant proof of this—for he has started a tally on his wall, by making nail marks between the padding by the door

I went to him, hoping to learn more, for this sort of pattern is one never seen before by any other of my fellow scientists of the mind, which makes it all the greater of a lure to solve it myself. To finally earn the acclaim myself and my ideas deserve. Flyman smiled at me when I entered, and came over, apologizing profusely for his bad conduct and behavior over the past week or so. Very pleasingly he entreated that I allow him to go back to his room and have his notebook once more.

As I know he is harmless at this stage, I sought to humor him. Though we shall need to keep close watch for when he turns towards religion again.

So now he is back in his old room, everything repaired as best we could manage. He continues to harvest flies, but does not seem to be eating them any longer. And when I visited him this evening he already appeared to be looking for a spider. I did try to get him to speak of what had occurred, but his mania is quite singular. The only clue I received was when I first asked, for he looked quite sad for a moment, shoulders hunching in on themselves. “Over, all over. The angel is gone, she has deserted me. All one can rely on is oneself.”

Such insight from a madman! But it follows that they sometimes might be closer to the truth than most at times. So it appears he feels he has been abandoned, forcing him to fall back on old habits.

Soon after he said this, he turned to me, seeming his old self. “Doctor Seward, I would be quite pleased if you would be so kind as to allot me some more sugar? I think it will do me much good.”

“What of the flies?” I asked.

“Oh, they like it too, for it does them much good too. And what is good for the both of us must be good on the whole.” And here I have heard it said that a madman cannot argue a point! For now he shall have a double supply, and also perhaps this time should he ask for a kitten he shall receive one. It shall be of great interest what he might ask for after that.

* * *

Lucy’s diary

Ah! To be back in London is the greatest of things! Though I am sad I could not travel with Arthur, for he and Mary left yesterday for Ring, their father having another lapse. Morris accompanied me and mamma on the train today however, and was grandly entertaining. Though I feel he censored himself for mamma’s sake. I am glad we have remained friendly after all that has occurred, and that Arthur does not seem the jealous sort.

Once we arrived at Hillingham, Peters told me that Mina had been by yesterday to collect her things, and that I had a note from Helene.

So now, diary, I must admit I have been quite naughty. For when I was overseeing the packing of Mina’s things, a maid found the bottle of chloral Dr. Seward had given for my use. I told the maid not to pack it away, but leave it with my own things. It _was_ meant for me, or so I try to console myself, though my intentions for it are perhaps not pure. 

It sits now on my desk, atop the note from Helene. She will come visit me tonight! Which is why my intentions are not pure, for I shall intend to slip it in Jenny’s drink tonight, so there will be fewer eyes on me. I would risk mamma too, but she already seems so unwell, and I fear it might make things worse.

_Later_ —Helene came as promised, and I am glad I drugged Jenny’s cup, for Helene swept me out of the house and into the moors. Where she had a nest of blankets set up for us, quite romantic like. I felt almost like a girl again, curled up under a pile of blankets, giggling and talking of everything and nothing. Though when I was a girl I never dared to kiss or touch my bedmate. I might not have Helene’s experience, but now I know why she enjoys it so, for there is a different sort of pleasure in seeing one you love in the midst of pleasure and satisfaction.

A short while later we were cuddled close, my throat twinging from her bite. We stared up at the stars, and Helene spoke softly of the constellations as she pointed them out to me. Telling me stories about them I had certainly never known before: Hercules and his battle with Ladon, Zeus’ transformation into a swan to chase the goddess Nemesis, and she spoke at great length of Orpheus’ lyre and how the man went to the underworld for his bride because he could not live without her.

“That is how much he loved her, that not even death and the Unseen One could sway him. Yet even with this love burning in his chest, he doubted and lost the woman he loved.” She pulled me even close, her lips against my temple. “I will not doubt, Lucy, never. I _know_ death cannot hold you anymore, that you will return to me, proof that we were meant for each other.”

Her words terrified and thrilled as they always do. And I said nothing, for what _can_ one say to such a declaration?

I must have fallen asleep there in her arms, the safest place in the world, for when I woke I was in my bed again. Where I have gotten up to write it all down, hopefully my candle will not wake Jenny, for I do not know how long the chloral will last.


	53. Mina's journal; 4, August

_4, August_ —The past few days have felt all a rush, today more than most, despite so little seeming to have happened. I returned to Hillingham, armed with invitations. Both Lucy and Kate were excited to receive them, though Lucy joked that five days would not be enough time for her to prepare.

We were in the middle of a spirited conversation when Peters interrupted, announcing the Ladies Dănești. All three of them in fact, though I am not sure Helene is truly a Dănești, if the announcement bothered her she did not show it. We welcomed all of them warmly, and I handed over an invitation to Piri, since she is clearly the oldest of the ladies; though that does not mean much, as she, Helene, and I must be of an age. She thanked me warmly and promised they would do their best to be there. Hajni seemed delighted by the idea, but Helene appeared more reserved.

Nevertheless I’m sure she’ll come, if only because Lucy does. The two of them seeming to have grown as close as Lucy and I, since I left. I do not begrudge Lucy the friendship, at school she’d had a harder time of it than most, so while she has many ladies she is well acquainted with, she’s only had few friends. It will be good for her to have more.

I could not say how long we sat together and talked, except that it truly was hours. The hour growing much late by the time Peters interrupted again, this time to announce Mary and Mr. Holmwood.

I was close enough to hear Lucy mutter to herself: “Damn and blast I’d forgotten.” It took quite an effort not to laugh at her words, as unexpected and perhaps improper as they were.

Lucy made the necessary introductions, and as I was seated next to Piri, I noted her strange response when Lucy told them all Mr. Holmwood was her fiance. Piri tensed, all her focus and attention suddenly on Helene. I spared a glance at the woman herself, and almost recoiled from the hatred I saw there. Though it quickly vanished at Hajni’s touch and murmured comment.

The whole thing leaves me feeling vaguely puzzled, for why would Helene hate Mr. Holmwood when they have only just met?


	54. Letters, Lucy's diary, cont; 6, August

Letter from Arthur Holmwood to Quincy Morris

Quincy,

I am writing to you in the hopes that you will be able to help me in this matter. Mary has gone missing. I would go after her myself, but I fear her disappearance has worsened father’s condition and I must stay with him.

Worse still, while I have no proof, I’m damn certain she’s run off with Prince Koromezzo’s man! Please find her Quinc, before she does something she’ll regret. And if you could keep it as quiet as possible, I know it’ll get out soon if she’s not found, but I can hope that your skills are up to the task.

Yrs.

Art

* * *

Letter from Quincy Morris

Dear Sir,

I know we haven’t been in much communication since our meeting, but now seems as good a time as any to correct that problem. Especially as my current problem has some relevance to our former conversation. A one Alojzy Czajka has run off with the sister of a dear friend of mine (I won’t say her name, but likely you can figure it out), and I’ve been charged with finding her and bringing her back. I’m headed up to Gretna, but should be back by this evening if you wish to get in contact with me.

Honestly I ain’t sure what I’ll be doing if I find her. My friend truly is worried about her, but also perhaps a bit too worried about the scandal. If she’s happy though, who’m I to take that away from her? Especially if they’ve already gotten married.

Blathering on won’t get me closer to the answer. Just post a reply to my hotel and I’ll see it when I get back.

Yours,

Quincy P. Morris

* * *

Lucy’s Diary, cont

Was supposed to go to the Pop with Arthur again tonight, but instead got a note from him saying something terrible had happened and he had to defer. I do not know what has occurred, but it must be awful indeed if he could not come and say for himself that he would miss our outing.

Helene did come to my room tonight however, as I haven’t seen her since Sunday this was something of a relief.

Her cool body felt pleasing curled up next to mine in the bed, and I did manage to work up the courage asking her about her absence. She sighed and kissed my cheek. “I was mad, sundrop, for you love me, but are engaged to another. Though I know you love me true, for you have proven it.”

My laughter was perhaps not polite, but I could not help myself. “Arthur? I cannot marry you Helene, and I must be wed. And I do love him.” I felt I should be honest with her, though her reaction might be terrible.

She reached up to brush my hair back, her fingers lingering on my cheek. “I do not like it, for I wish to be so selfish of you, and if you asked it I would steal you away. We would have such adventures, and you would quite like my brothers, I think.” She pressed closer. “But you are still mine in a way he can never have you, and when he is old and dust, you will still be mine.” Her head began to move lower, and I arched my neck for her.

Helene has gone now, and I know I must sleep for my health, but I find I cannot. And I am loathed to take the chloral for myself.


	55. Mina Harker's journal; 9, August

_9, August_ —It felt very final and momentous, to cross out ‘Murray’ at the front of this journal and replace it with ‘Harker.’ But it is done! We are wed now and I will do my best to write it all down as it occurred before Johnathan comes back.

The day itself felt perfect, the sun out and shining, with nary a cloud in the sky. The air was balmy and warm, without any sense of oppression or heat.

Lucy and Kate came over early in the morning to help get me ready, and for a time it was just like we were back in school, and they were helping me prepare for an outing, and not my wedding. Though there was far more teasing than I can recall ever happening before.

We seemed to finish just in time, for it seemed like seconds after Lucy finished my hair, Kate was calling out that the carriage was here to bring us to the church.

I felt for certain that my heart would beat right out of my chest during the ride over, my fingers certainly ached when I managed to uncurl them from my dress, which thankfully does not show the signs of that abuse.

The church might not have been the fanciest, or most extravagant, one in all of London, but neither Johnathan or I are such, and the simple homeliness of this one suited us both. Even with all that has occurred. Mr. Hawkins greeted us, and complimented me on how lovely I looked. Kate and Lucy gave me kisses and many wishes for luck, before going on into the nave, leaving only me and Mr. Hawkins in the narthex. He has thankfully agreed to stand in for my father to give me away. It only seems fitting after all, he has in a way been like a father to me, and is the one who introduced me to Johnathan almost ten years ago now.

The voices in the nave quieted, and soon the organist began to play.

I am certain that what I experienced has been known by all brides for centuries, but I at the moment felt as if I were the first to feel this rush of excitement and fear as I was escorted up to the altar. Johnathan looked so handsome and mildly grave standing there, his eyes only for me.

I felt as if I had eyes only for him as well during the whole ceremony. Though I have memory of speaking my required parts, and placing the marriage band on Johnathan’s finger. Perhaps it wasn’t as bold as the ruby ring, but the simple gold band seemed a good compliment.

We kissed, and it was done. We were husband and wife and I once again felt as if I were the first woman to feel such joy and happiness.

Despite these feelings I must note that the oddest thing happened while we were accepting congratulations. One of Johnathan’s coworkers had just stepped away, and Johnathan’s gaze swept over the church, before stilling, his body growing stiff with fear. I followed his gaze to see him staring at Helene, who was conversing with Lucy.

I tried to catch his attention, but nothing seemed to work. At least not until the Prince stepped between Johnathan and Helene, his hand coming to land on Johnathan’s shoulder. “My friend?”

It was as if some spell were broken and Johnathan was himself. “Apologies, Dănești.”

“None needed,” replied his Highness. “Many felicitations on your marriage! May it be a long and fruitful one.” He let go of Johnathan and took my hands in his cool ones, giving them a squeeze. “It is hard work, but satisfying.”

His words surprised me, and I inquired if he had been married.

He gave a wan smile. “It feels like forever ago now, but yes, I was. She was a good woman, and I am still grateful for all that I managed to learn while we were together.” He turned his attention back to Johnathan, although it wasn’t until later that I realized he still held my hands. “I must apologize once again, Johnathan, for what happened to you while you were my guest. I hear you are well now, but not fully recovered, and I hope you regain what you have lost in due time.”

Johnathan’s response was vague, and I felt it only confirmed what I thought in Budapest: that he does still recall all that happened, he just does not wish to speak of it.

For a brief moment I wonder if his Highness’ thoughts followed the trail of mine, for he frowned slightly at Johnathan’s reply. But then it was gone and he was speaking again. “I hope you will allow this small apology, for me to be the one to finance your honeymoon. It feels like the least I can do.”

My heart did seem to still in my chest at his words. For I had never thought anyone might be so generous. Despite that, both Johnathan and I did protest, out of politeness’ sake.

“Nonsense.” His Highness waved us both off. “It is an easy thing to do. Only tell me where you wish to go and I can arrange everything.”

I admitted we were going to Paris and he gave a nod. “I shall send you the details in the morning then, before you leave.” And with that he left us, Piri quickly pulled him into a hushed conversation.

Nothing much else of note happened, and soon after that we left the church to Johnathan... _our_ flat. Johnathan headed off soon after to make some arrangements at his work to account for what will likely be a longer trip than we originally planned, which has given me time to write and explore.

Again I feel nervous and excited, for Johnathan should return soon, and I do not doubt after dinner we shall share our bed for the first time. I know what is to come, but I find that changes nothing. Ah, that is the door.


	56. Lucy's Diary; 11, August

While I have to confess the beginning of the party was quite awful, in the end I’m glad I let Helene convince me to come, for it was quite enjoyable.

But I get ahead of myself, as always, it seems. So a quick brief since my last entry:

I have seen more of Helene than I have of Arthur, recently. He even declined my asking him to come to Mina’s wedding with me, which I find even now to be somewhat distressing. I should not wish to be selfish, but it was clear at the time Arthur was worried over something and would not speak of it—which meant it must not be his father—and I could not see why he might wish to forget his troubles with me for a few hours.

Of course I know now what is the cause of this: just yesterday Kate came by, and told me, if without her usual vigor. Mary has gone and eloped with the man she fancied, and has left England altogether.

Poor Arthur! Still, I believe he is doing all that he can, and doing nothing else but fretting cannot be good for him.

Helene and Hajni also visited yesterday, bearing with them an invitation for the party with which I spoke above. It took some convincing to get mamma to agree to let me go, but finally she did. And it was with some relief that I put on one of my new dresses and let Jenny make me up as pretty as could be.

The ride to the Dănești house was thankfully short, for they do not live far away, which meant I had not much time to have doubts, or pay heed to the nerves making a merry jig in my stomach.

It felt like the moment I stepped inside there were eyes upon me, but Helene was soon there, which made me forget about them for a while. We circled the room, her pointing out to me all who were there as we walked. Now I _shall_ be selfish, for Arthur should have accompanied me as my fiance, he is so much better at parties full of important people. And these people _were_ important: politicians, peers of the realm, well know scientists and inventors, foreign dignitaries. There were also some actors and writers as well, to my surprise. It was quite the great crush, and even now I’m greatly surprised the Prince managed to get them all.

Not that I had much time for that surprise at the moment, for as we walked I began to realize people were whispering and looking at me. And it felt quite like being thrown into an icy lake, I’m sure, to realize the reason was because of Mary. And I am so very grateful to Kate for telling me in the first place, for I would have made such a fool of myself if I had not known. Oh, Arthur! Why did you not tell me?

I asked Helene if we could go somewhere more private, for I would have liked to have a nice cry before bracing myself and facing them all down. Helene did so without question, and I soon found myself tucked away in what had to be her own bedroom, so very lush and red. Crying myself silly in her arms to let out the shame and embarrassment. I do not hate easily, but I did hate Mary some for being so thoughtless, though she likely cares not, being so happy and far away from the problems she’s created.

Feeling much better, I wiped away the last of my tears and stood, asking after the powder room that I might make myself presentable again.

To my surprise Helene instead sat me down at her vanity, which held no mirror, and began to tend to my face herself. Her touch and care helped soothe me further, until I felt brave enough to ask why so many disparate people were at the part, for it is certainly not typical.

Helene rolled her eyes with an annoyed sound. “Emil wishes to make the world better, and has decided England is the fastest way to accomplish that.” Another roll of her eyes. “It’s utter nonsense, and he’s doomed to failure. The ones in power like the world the way it is and do not wish to change it, even if it means things will be better in the long run. But I am tired of trying to convince him he will fail, and so will sit back and let him learn on his own.” She stepped back and gave me a critical look. “You look even more lovely now than you did when I first saw you, sunlit Lucy. Come, we shall return to the party and make them all mad with jealousy.”

My laughter might have been weak, but it was true. To my surprise when we did return to the party there were the expected stares, but I heard not a single peep about Mary and her elopement. And during our second turn we stopped briefly for Helene to speak with Hajni, who’d made herself a coterie of politicians to my surprise. They spoke in Romanian, so I do not know what they spoke of, but it was a brief conversation.

Eventually we found ourselves being surrounded by artists and writers. I must admit it was quite flattering to have all of them fawning over us, though I am sure most was for Helene.

After a while I noticed a strange rattling noise which got louder as the minutes passed. Some of the inventors, and Piri, seemed quite interested in the sound and soon they were hurrying towards the front door and the street, where there was soon an excited outcry.

Not everyone got up to investigate, but Helene and I were among the crowd who did. Only to find Prince Koromezzo, who seemed not at all to care that his man had made a scandal, himself sitting atop a strange contraption, which I later learned was called a Patent-Motorwagen. He offered rides to the curious, and I eventually found myself being lifted aboard.

The trip around the block was slow, the machine moving not much faster than a horse at a steady walk, but it was strangely different. I almost worked up the courage to ask him about his man, but in the end was a great big coward.

I returned home shortly after the trip. Mamma did not wait up for me, but Jenny asked a million questions as she helped me prepare for bed. Which I did my best to answer as cheerfully as I could.

Helene will not visit tonight, so now that all is written down I must do my best to sleep.


	57. Seward's phonograph, Mina's journal; 13, August

Once again the Flyman is back up to spiders. It seems even without prompting now, he clears out the previous collection after about two weeks. I have informed the keepers that they are not to do anything in terms of encouraging him to tidy up or clear out his collections early. I soon should see him move back to sparrows, and expect him to ask after a kitten or cat by the end of the month. Which this time I shall endeavor to give to him.

It shall be most fascinating to find out what he will ask for next.

* * *

Mina’s journal, cont

 _13, August_ —It should be no surprise that since arriving in Paris I have had little time to write. Johnathan and I have gone out every night, and spent many a daytime hour wandering the city, or the Expo, or anything else that catches our fancy.

Today however we have decided to have a few hours to ourselves, Johnathan has gone for a walk, while I’ve decided I should catch up on my journal.

Arriving in Paris we soon made for the hotel the Prince’s letter directed us to. The last time I was in Paris I could not properly appreciate the sights around me, too focused on getting to Budapest and Johnathan. Now though, I can take it all in, and it truly is quite beautiful. Our hotel room is equally so, it must be the most expensive room in the whole place, and it is for _us_ for the next ten days—though it is now only seven. We also learned upon arriving that we were given an allowance for the trip, to play for any events or outings we might wish to have. I am not sure we can ever truly thank the Prince for this gift.

So as I have said above, the past three days have been spent exploring the city and it’s wonders. As well as enjoying each other’s company. Sharing a bed with someone is not wholly new to me, but every night is, and certainly I have not copulated with any of my previous bedmates.

I cannot say it is my favorite experience, but it is pleasant enough, though it does hurt some even now.

That is practically everything. Save for one thing: Johnathan’s journal. Which somehow ended up among our luggage, I know it was among my things when I returned to London, and perhaps I absently repacked it. Though I cannot recall doing so.

Yet now that I have time to myself...perhaps it is good that it is here. For while the past few days have been happily married bliss, I still cannot help but think upon Johnathan’s strange reaction to Helene in the church. Why was he so afraid? 

I know I promised I would let the past lie, yet my womanly curiosity cannot help but _wonder_. This must be how Eve felt, while she debated on whether or not to eat the fruit. I fear I am just as base as her, for even now my gaze drifts to the journal...

_Later_ —Oh God above.

Strangely I cannot help but love Johnathan more, that he survived such things and yet still lives with his mind mostly whole. It is to be admired.

Why did Helene try to kill him? Nothing in my writing of her has suggested she had such darkness inside her. Yet she also spent all those weeks with us in Whitby where she must have known who I was, and yet said nothing to me of Johnathan, when she could have easily done so. She is not the sort of woman, I think, who would balk at suggesting more happened than actually did.

Going over those days again, I do find myself struck by the description of the woman on the _Demeter_. At the time worry consumed me, so I did not notice, but her similarities to Helene cannot be discounted, especially with Johnathan’s own descriptions of her.

Yet how did she escape the wreck without anyone spotting her? 

Oh, Lucy! I fear you might be in danger! Yet I know that to warn you away might only push you close to her. So I must only watch, and guard you as best I can. And hope that whatever might happen will not break your heart.

As for the rest…

I think this is what Johnathan feared telling me more than his attraction to Helene, for to be tempted by another woman is one thing—however jealous it might make one—yet to be tempted by a man…

I read it again, and while there is jealousy towards Dănești—I feel now as if I have a right to call him this as well, considering—I cannot also help but recall his actions when he met me in Whitby, his concern and care. Which can only be interpreted as great affection, and perhaps...Love.

I feel so very strange and queer to write such a thing, yet I believe it to be true. I do not know how Johnathan feels exactly, yet his own words are not as firm a rejection as many men would have. None of what he has written is a crime, though many would judge it as such.

Even so, nothing I have read has changed my mind, only perhaps broadened it. So as a good wife shall I will keep such supposed indignities close. Perhaps soon I shall ask Johnathan about it, to hear his own thoughts of it. I know mine whirl and move in ways strange to contemplate after all I have read.

Ah, I hear Jonathan at the door!

_Later again—_ I do believe I surprised Jonathan with my kiss when I greeted him, but he soon overcame his shock and returned the kiss happily. Perhaps it is shameful to say, but we did not even make it to the bed. Though coupling on a couch cannot be the lewdest thing to have ever happened. I certainly found I enjoyed myself more than I have any previous times.

Afterwards we did make it to the bed, and as we lay curled up together, I admitted what I had done, and that I did not hate Johnathan for it.

His gray eyes grew solemn, a hand reaching out to cup my cheek, his wedding band and Dănești’s ring cool against my skin. “I am not sure I deserve you, Mina. Especially with all that occurred.” So he did remember then, but I cannot blame him for claiming otherwise. Even I might had out situations been reversed.

I affirmed that the past didn’t matter, that our future did. Only then to tell him of my own encounter with Dănești in Whitby, and how surprised and worried for Johnathan he had been. That there might be some affection there.

“I have sworn myself to you, Mina. And anyways, even if you are right, it is illegal.” It did not surprise me that Johnathan mentioned nothing of himself. For I think he is afraid, so I did not push him to admit anything.

He is sleeping now as I write this, and I am not sure what I seek to accomplish by any of it. Only that it is somehow important. 


	58. Letter, Lucy's diary; 16, August

Letter from Quincy Morris to Arthur Holmwood

_12, August_

_Constantinople_

Art,

Wish I could give you better news, but I also know one shouldn’t lie about the state of one’s horse. Found Mary and Alojzy, though they’re both locked up tight in the Polish Embassy here in Constantinople, and unless you’re wanting things to get worse, I'm not sure I can shake them out.

I did have a brief conversation with Mary, her sitting at a window a few stories up and me on the grounds; perhaps not the usual sort of conversation format, but she was clearly wary of me snatching her away to bring back.

She told me she was well, and quite happy, and cared not one jot for whatever trouble she might have caused back in England. “I was to be married anyways,” she told me quite tartly. “So better for love than for money.” She even suggested she would not be afraid of disownment. “I’m a Czajka now, what need have I for Holmwood?”

Which stuffs it, either way. I’ll be staying here until the 17, in case something happens, but after that I’m inclined to give her up as lost and head back to England. If you wish to pursue things more I won’t stop you.

Yrs.

Quincy P. Morris

* * *

Lucy’s Diary, cont.

16, A.

Arthur finally came by today, as apologetic as could be. Telling me all about Mary and her now husband. Arthur was quite angry about the whole thing, as could be expected, and admitted he was not sure if we would have to delay the wedding or not.

While I was overjoyed that he finally spoke truthfully with me I felt some guilt, for I have not shared with him my own secrets. Nevermind my thoughts on the wedding, which I’ve realized I would be quite fine with delaying. A thought I’m sure only few women have had before. Mamma was not happy when she heard of it later however, and I fear it has not done her health any better. I am also, however, too afraid to suggest she return to Whitby or some other place for her health, while I stay with the Dănești. Where I would not have to hide a jot. A thought that thrills me immensely.

Speaking of hiding, that guilt I felt earlier did push me to admit my sleepwalking, the least of my secrets. Though I perhaps gave a little lie in saying it has not happened at all recently. He seemed much surprised that I could keep a secret, which I feel does me a great disservice. But he was quite understanding why I had not spoken of it, and said it did not matter to him one bit. Which was pleasing, as we should stand with each other in all things, after all.

Helene has not come tonight, though her visits have been irregular since the party. Which she does not appear to like, but also admits it is good for my health. I do eat and drink as much as I am able, but mamma frowns so when I take too much, so it is a fine line I walk down.


	59. Mina's diary, cont; 18, August

_18, August_ —Tomorrow Johnathan and I return to London, and in a way, reality. I am sad that we’re leaving Paris, but glad to know this has only been the first step of our lives together.

Since the other day we have not spoken of his journal. Though sitting on the desk under my own, it exerts a strange sort of gravity on the both of us. Things feel...different between the two of us, and not quite in ways I think I can quantify. They are not _bad_ , but strange.

Retiring to bed seems to have become an almost...exciting prospect. Johnathan being more _fierce_ than before, which I find I enjoy, though more conservative voices would frown upon me for saying so. I thought I knew what it all was about, but Johnathan and I seem to be discovering a whole host of new things together.

We’ve spent the past few days as we did the previous ones, going out and seeing Paris, trips to the Expo, we went to the opera last night. I might not speak a word of Italian but I found that did not decrease my enjoyment of _Rossini_.

Sometimes in the night Johnathan will wake with a start, being a light sleeper it wakes me too, though I’m not sure Johnathan truly knows that yet. I will feel the bed move slightly and hear a muffled groan. If I move too I find he reaches for me and we join again, him at his fiercest yet; if I remain still...I believe he touches himself. I am ablush just to write it now, though in the dark of night it doesn’t seem so lewd. No, that it not right, it does, though in a different way. One I don’t think I can easily explain.

Johnathan has gone off for a walk, to have some time to think. I, I believe I shall read his journal again…

_Later_ —I have read the journal, spoken with Johnathan at his return, we ate, we joined, and now he sleeps while I write this by candle light, still feeling as if I have a fever, though I have checked my temperature and I am well.

Reading the journal illuminated nothing, only served to start this strange twisting heat inside me. I felt restless, and was about to head out to start a walk of my own when Johnathan returned.

He appeared so solemn that it was easy to put aside my own restlessness to hear him.

“Mina, I love you, and always will. And perhaps I feel a bit foolish and sorry for keeping all that has occurred from you as I have, it was wrong of me to do so. For when you found them out you did not reject those awful parts of me, which I more than I deserve.”

I agreed that I did, for they were all parts of _him_ , and it seems a supreme cruelty to love only part of him and reject the rest.

He laughed softly and took my hands in his, raising them up to kiss my palms. “See, you are the far better person than I. I have struggled so much these past weeks with all that occurred in Transylvania, yet you have accepted it all as just another facet of me. Where most might be scandalized by the thought of their fiance with someone else, let alone a _man_.”

The strange fever began to return, moving and writhing as a dragon might; a fact my brain has latched upon since seeing Dănești’s ring on Johnathan’s finger during that conversation. Johnathan did not seem to notice, for he continued.

“So I love you, moreso because of how you have been to me since discovering all. I _do_ wish to be with you always, to be your husband for the rest of my days. Yet I must also be truthful, for I fear that even by your side I have thought of him. I fear that I am drawn to him, as iron to a magnet.” Johnathan fell against me, his forehead against my shoulder. “How could I have not known I was such a deviant, Mina?”

Reclaiming my hands I pushed him away gently, bringing his face to my own so I might give him soft kisses. Ignoring this fever in me, for this was no time for such a thing, I tried to convey the depth of my love to him. Gathering my own courage to speak next.

I gathered enough, for I confessed I might be as deviant as him. Oh, the shock on his poor face! Yet at least he remained silent, which allowed me to continue my confession. For the thought of him with Dănești _does_ bring forth some soft jealousy, yet overall I seem to find the idea...attractive.

Oh, what a relief to know that only Johnathan or I will read these words. For certainly all of society would turn against us if they knew.

Johnathan pulled me to him, embracing me and I could feel a brief rain of tears on my hair, I cried a little too, so I cannot hold it against him.

Somehow after that we managed a pleasant dinner, where we spoke of nothing of true importance.

Then we returned to our room and the bed, and I must confess it felt as if we were both possessed by something fierce and animalistic, even now I am sore and at some point Johnathan bit my shoulder—which shall be an adventure to hide.

The restlessness inside me abated some afterwards, but I can still feel it. And am not sure I wish to know what _will_ sait it. Yet I am also not sure if I wish it gone.

Oh! I wish I could speak to Lucy about all of this, yet even as dear and understanding a friend as she is, even she might find this too much. So for now I must bear it alone.

Johnathan and I have clearly started down some road together and I am curious and afraid to know where it might take us.


	60. A Memory

I sat in my study, going over the seemingly endless pile of papers I’d accumulated; paper certainly made communication easier, though not always _useful_.

The door opened and I glanced up to see Piri enter, wearing one of my suits and her hair artfully pinned up to make it look shorter. “I should be back tomorrow evening.” She bent down to kiss the top of my head. “Don’t get too lost in your work,” she teased.

“Hypocrite,” I grumbled good-naturedly.

She gave a silvery laugh in return. “I should not throw stones,” she agreed. “Though I am not throwing myself into work to forget my moroseness.”

It didn’t surprise that she could see through me so clearly, she had been with me longer than anyone else ever could, after all. Johnathan was married, and happy, and I would do my best to make sure he had the best life he could, but I could not help but think on how things could have gone. “I should worry that I’ve become so transparent?”

Piri’s expression turned serious. “You will find happiness again, Emil.” She put her hand atop of mine and squeezed. “It always comes back.” Giving me another brief kiss she turned and left.

For a time I did not work, only sat there, listening to the servents work—Helene and Hajni had left a few hours ago to look at art with Miss Westenra. Piri was right of course, but future happiness did not change present melancholy. I should have thrown myself back into work, one of my first works was coming to fruition in a week, and while I was confident it would pass, I still needed to keep a close eye, just in case. Overconfidence could easily lead to failure after all, even in a test such as this.

Below me I heard the door open, and if my heart still beat it would have stilled at the sounds of Johnathan and Miss Murray’s, no they are the Harkers now, voices. Mr. Sayre bid them to wait, and during the agonizing wait for him to reach the study my mind raced down every path. The return tickets I had provided them had been for today after all, had they returned to London and come directly here? I could think of no other reason save to thank me, which I did not need—hopefully soon they would come to realize and count on such things with only the barest murmurs.

“Highness,” Mr. Sayre spoke from the open doorway. “A Mr. and Mrs. Harker are here to see you.”

“I’ll see them in the solar, and have Cook make up a tea for them.”

Mr. Sayre nodded, and once he was gone it took but a second to reach the solar myself. The air was warm and I allowed myself a moment to close my eyes and soak in that warmth, and the sunlight streaming through the glass. I had gone almost three hundred years without sunlight, and now that I had it again I did my best to enjoy it.

Even as I basked in the sunlight I followed the sounds of the Harkers approaching, punctuated by the kitchen leaping into action to make them tea. I opened my eyes as they reached the solar, preparing myself for them as best I could.

They both looked well, the sunlight seeming to gild the both of them: Mrs. Harker in fire, Johnathan in old bronze. Life and happiness radiated from them and it was hard to resist. “Johnathan, Mrs. Harker, your visit is an unexpected pleasure, especially so soon after your return.” They were not the work I had come to London for, but their lives were my business now.

Blood stained both their cheeks, a fact that was far too distracting.

“We thought it best to come see you without delay,” Mrs. Harker said, as forthright as ever. Or at least when she was not constrained by the mores of this strange world. She would be a force to reckon with if that was nurtured and encouraged.

I gestured at the smaller couch. “Please, sit, tea will be up shortly.” I could hear a maid, Beatrice from the sound of it, begin her slow ascent to us. “How was your trip?”

Beatrice entered as they were recounting their experience in the Eiffel Tower. I thanked her, and began pouring tea. Johnathan’s with cream and sugar, and Mrs. Harker’s… “Mrs. Harker?”

“Black, please.”

If they noticed I did not make any for myself, neither commented on it. “So, then. What brings you to my doorstep when you should be settling into your new life together?” Perhaps a bit too direct to be polite, but now that we wouldn’t be disturbed I felt compelled to ask.

“We did wish to thank you, for your extreme generosity.” Mrs. Harker answered. “We are quite grateful for it, and are not sure how to repay you.”

I waved her off. “No need. As I said in the church, think of it as repayment for what should not have happened to Johnathan.” Briefly I cursed Helene again, for all her talk of love being supreme, she seemed inclined to deprive me of anything romantic. Nevermind her thoughts on this plan of mine; though those had lessened since meeting Miss Westenra. “I’m am grateful that you enjoyed yourselves so. It is good to start a marriage happy.” My own had been motivated more by money and connections, though as we had both understood that we’d gotten along well enough, and after a time I’d enjoyed Judith’s company.

“There is, perhaps, also another reason…” Mrs. Harker gave Johnathan a meaningful look.

Johnathan himself seemed a startled deer more than anything: frozen and ready to fun at the least sign of trouble. His heart was a thunderous gallop in my ears. I could not help myself, and perhaps I was a little emboldened by Mrs. Harker’s words as well.

I went to them, kneeling in front of Johnathan, my hands claiming his own. “Johnathan?” I prompted. He started at my touch, storm grey eyes staring at me. But he seemed aware again, like he had when I’d joined them at the church.

He stared at me for a long moment, and I knew if I wanted to I could read his mind, to figure out what he was struggling to say. Yet I also enjoyed seeing the struggled, to see him fight against what he’d been taught to try and get what he wanted. So I kept to myself. Perhaps later I would happily pluck such things from his mind, and delight in his struggle to accept it was his own thought, but for now hearing him say it would be the greatest pleasure.

“Your Highness...Dănești…”

“Emil,” I corrected without thought. Wanting them to have that gift, even if they did not realize it’s importance. “I wish for you both to call me Emil.” It would be good to hear that name from someone other than family.

“...Emil…” I shivered to hear Johnathan say it, as hesitant as he was. “I thought...that is I wish…” He shook his head, and I did almost take pity on the poor dear. “I do recall all that happened when I was with you.” I nodded, having suspected it to be so. “And sometimes I still think upon, and even dream, of you, though I know I should not. So perhaps...that is what I am trying to say, is that I...I think I am willing to throw away much.” His cheeks flushed with blood.

Unable to stop myself I raised myself up enough to kiss him. He clearly did not know what to do, but I did not mind. After a little encouraging he seemed to understand it was no different from kissing a woman, and with a little breathless sound his tongue brushed my own.

It was not a careful kiss, his tongue cutting itself on one of my fangs, the brief trickle of blood making me surge against him.

I did soon pull away, however. Drinking in the sight of a wide-eyed and shivering Johnathan. I glanced at Mrs. Harker, only to feel some delight at her own appearance: just as flush and wide-eyed as her husband, clearly glued to the sight of us.

With ease I stood, drawing Johnathan up with me. He moved without resistance, and his eyes fluttered closed as I made him lie upon the couch. I knelt again, bowing my head down to nuzzle at the soft underside of his chin, before moving up to kiss him again, my hand settling on his throat. “Will you stop me this time?” I whispered against his lips. “Or shall I show you what I mean by ‘taken?’”

He moaned against me. “Emil…” His hands gripped my hair and I smiled before moving lower, undoing his tie and loosening his shirt, before turning his head so that I could easily reach the vein. I nuzzled it as well, feeling the rapid pulse of life contained within, a siren’s song.

I sank my fangs into him and he shuddered, groaning as his body went limp.

Blood is blood is blood. The taste was the same no matter who it comes from. Which did not stop me from savoring this meal, for it came from Johnathan. I drank slowly, but shallowly, not wishing to take too much this time. At some later date I might drink more deeply and leave him helpless to me, but for now he would still need to leave under his own power today.

Finally, I drew away, lapping up the last of his blood from the wound. For a moment I did not stir myself, a little too enthralled by all that just occured. When I did turn my head my eyes followed the path of Johnathan’s gaze, unsurprised to see it was focused on his wife.

Ah, but how could one not stare at such a sight as she was? Still flushed and wide-eyed, her breathing rapid and smelling deeply of lust and arousal. Her hands clutched so tightly around her tea cup that she might shatter it.

Tearing myself away from Johnathan was hard, but I knew it would be worth it. Going over to Mrs. Harker gently pried her hands away from her tea cup and helped her stand. Daring much I leaned in and kissed her cheek, leaving a little smear of blood. She did not protest, and came with me when I guided her to the couch. Letting go of her hand I stepped around her, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my chin on the top of her head. “You could have him here, if you wished. You’re so eager that even undressing is too much: undo his pants, hike up your skirt.” 

She made a shocked sound, and I could feel her body start under my hands. I smiled at such innocence, but said nothing more, knowing the choice needed to be hers.

Johnathan managed to raise himself up onto his elbows, looking ravished and tousled. “Mina.” His eyes had grown stormier.

I felt her begin to pull away and let her, stepping back to the other couch and sprawling upon it, watching them under hooded eyes.

“Johnathan…” Mina now sat in his lap, though she did nothing else. “Are you sure?” She asked quietly. Certainly not meant for my ears, but I could not stop myself from hearing, even if I wished to. “This is…” Johnathan sat fully upright, hand rising up to touch her unblemished cheek and making her shiver. “Most untoward,” she sounded breathless and eager despite her words.

He kissed her gently. “It’s alright, Mina love.”

It was a pleasure to see them move, their time together smoothing the way. I only saw the barest flash of Johnathan’s cock before Mina stood to lift her skirts. She sat back down and after a few seconds gave a loud moan, throwing her head back; her throat a great temptation. I remained where I was, content to watch them for now.

Johnathan was just as vocal as his wife, groaning and sighing as the two of them moved. Revealing nothing, and yet so very much. I would know their naked forms soon enough, enjoying what I could see now.

There was no surprise that he came first, a shuddering grunt escaping him. Even so he kept moving with Mina. He turned his head slightly, laying an open mouthed kiss on her cheek before licking off the blood I had left there, which delighted me to no end.

Mina proved just as delightful, a few heartbeats after Johnathan kissed her cheek she lowered her own head setting her mouth over the mark I had left there, and leaving her own if the sound that left Johnathan was any indication.

The both of them slumped back down against the couch, their breathing beginning to slow. I approached them again, running my fingers down the back of Mina’s dress, feeling the laces of her corset under the fabric.

Kneeling again I kissed and nuzzled the both of them. “I would love nothing more than to take you both up to my room and show you all the pleasures you do not know.” I sighed. “But I believe you must be away, and such things saved for a later time, when they can be truly savored.” Both of them blushed and I smiled.

I helped Mina stand, before helping Johnathan upright and tidying him with great care, with barely a lingering touch. Mina’s own bite obscured my own, but I found it didn’t bother me. There would be other bites, other marks.

Johnathan and I both stood and I embraced him, giving him a final kiss, and showing just how much I had enjoyed the whole encounter. Pulling away I laughed softly at his shocked and curious expression. “Next time,” I teased. Pulling away from him I went to Mina. I kissed her as well, curious to know what Johnathan would do.

A sharp inhale and a garbled attempt at speaking. Again Johnathan looked shocked and curious, with a bit of outrage as well. I did not chide him for his jealousy, for it would serve him well everywhere else save here. Soon enough though he’d learn to let it go, sharing my attentions between the two of them would be no trouble at all. “I will take you next time,” I promised her. Already eager to taste her blood.

Johnathan led her away, though they both spared me lingering glances as they left the solar. 

I followed the sounds of their leaving, all the way to the street where they hailed a hack. Slowly I ran my tongue over my teeth seeking out any last taste of Johnathan. 

Would they return to me soon? Or would I have to go to them?


	61. Harker journals; 20, August

Johnathan Harker’s journal, cont.

 _20, August_ —I did not think I would ever pick this up again, yet here I am. It did not seem right that it be Mina’s sole burden to make an account of this, whatever it may be.

Yesterday...I shudder now to think upon it, and I do not know if it is revulsion or pleasure. Now that time has passed that thing others might call common sense has returned, and I fear if I am given a choice it might be the wrong one.

I think Dănești would have me, regardless of how I feel, and enjoy it immensely; I think he would quite like it if I asked for it, but hated myself for doing so. A thought that might drive someone to madness if they thought too long upon it.

Unlike me, Mina seems almost radiant. When we returned home yesterday we did speak upon all that had happened, and by the end I found myself being pulled towards her and kissed quite thoroughly. We had each other on the floor, as if we were animals and not even people. Perhaps we are though, for most would say humans would not do such base things as Mina and I have done. Yet it feels as if we have done almost nothing at all.

Dănești kissed me, and...drank my blood, something that leaves me bewildered even now, and I felt his arousal at such things, but what is that compared to the crimes others have been brought up for?

He has promised to do the same to Mina, and I do not know if I wish to punch him for it, or see it. More proof, if there ever needed to be. I am ever so grateful Mina and I created our own shorthand, for otherwise all and sundry would know of what we write. Perhaps if this...whatever it might be, continues with Dănești we shall teach it to him as well, so we all might communicate as Mina and I once did.

Mina calls me out to breakfast, then I must to work. Though I am not sure how well I can concentrate…

* * *

Mina’s Journal, cont.

 _20, August_ —I will have to remember to rewrite this loose copy when Johnathan and I return home, though I am certain it will be late tomorrow at this rate.

Perhaps it is not done, but I sent a note to Dăneșt...to _Emil_ , inquiring about dining together this evening.

I found myself unsurprised to receive a prompt reply not two hours later, inviting Johnathan and I to dine with him and his family. Which was fascinating.

As to be expected, Dănești sat at the head of the table, though that he sat Johnathan and I on either side of him. Hajni sat next to me, and Piri next to Johnathan; perhaps to both our relief Helene was not there.

That Johnathan and I were the only ones that ate was a strange experience, perhaps stranger still was the fact the servants did not even try to put food in front of any of the Dănești, as if they knew it would not be eaten.

Our conversation was quite lively, ranging from politics to the arts, and I could not regret that we had come, for it was all quite pleasing. Even if at the time I had no idea what would transpire afterwards.

Sometime during our meal, though I cannot recall now what sparked the mention, it came to light that Hajni is not Dănești’s sister as he claims, but his _daughter_.

He laughed when Johnathan and I expressed our shock at this revelation.

His smile showed off his fangs, the same ones that had been in Johnathan yesterday and likely me later on. “Considering our appearance, would you believe she is my daughter?” He asked.

Before we could answer, Piri rolled her eyes. “No one would believe it because you are as vain as a peacock, Emil.” She turned to Johnathan and I. “Once he could be young and handsome again he’s never gone back, not unless he has to.” It took me a moment to realize she was teasing him, and I choked back laughter.

“You are the same,” Emil sounded almost petulant. Perhaps he wished to remain handsome and in control because he thinks it made him more attractive. It does, but I also find these ‘human’ parts of him charming as well.

Piri flicked her hair back gracefully. “I did not have as much work to do,” she replied airily. “Sieges and dinner parties are far less stressful than outright war.”

“Must we bicker in front of guests?” Hajni managed to sound older than either her father or aunt.

Emil and Piri both laughed, the sound enchanting all its own. “Mina and Johnathan are both family,” Emil corrected. I found it quite thrilling in a way that he was already so familiar, granted after what occurred yesterday he perhaps has the right. “And it is the nature of family to have it’s bumps and petty arguments from time to time. But as we have finished the meal, you may go Hajni.” The girl rose, curtsied, then seemed to vanish.

Piri sighed, rising herself and kissing Emil on the cheek, murmuring something that had him laughing softly. She walked out sedately, seeming a sloth compared to Hajni.

So we were alone, and I could almost feel the change in the air.

“Drinks?” Emil inquired. I may not still quite know _what_ he is, but to see him play at being human is oddly curious.

I shook my head however, having had my fill. Johnathan also declined. Emil smiled, and for a brief moment I saw his tongue curl around one of those fangs of his, as if in anticipation of his own ‘drinks.’ A realization that left me strangely warm.

He stood, and offered both Johnathan and I his arms.

I am certain we were not under no influence of drugs or...anything else, but there was an air of unreality to everything as we were escorted upstairs; certainly we saw no one else, not even a maid.

The room we were lead to was dark and masculine, lit only be some candles and a fire, the bed against the wall more than large enough for three people. Behind us the door closed and locked, and once again I could feel a change in the air, and a strange sort of terror gripped me as Emil turned to me, cupping my cheek with a cold hand. “Allow me a little light repast of my own, dear Johnathan, and I shall attend you happily.” Johnathan and I both shuddered, understanding the meaning behind the words.

I found myself against the wall, quite handily trapped. The hand on my cheek trailed down and around, reaching the collar of my dress at the back he began to unbutton it, without ever tearing his gaze from my own.

At least, not until the front of my dress drooped and fell, to reveal my neck and decolletage. He dipped his head down, lips cool and soft against my pounding pulse, and it did hurt briefly when he first sank those fangs into me, but then it was washed away as he began to drink. If this is what Johnathan felt yesterday no wonder her had looked so ecstatic as I’d watched.

I clung to Emil, unable to do much else, gasping softly as cool fingers teased the top of my breasts.

When he pulled away I swayed slightly, though I did not feel much weaker than I had before he’d drunk. The height of solicitous care, he led me to the bed, undoing my corset and removing my petticoats, but leaving my shift. 

I did not mind being left laying there, watching with hooded eyes as Emil approached Johnathan. “Would you like to have your wife first? Or shall I claim you in other ways?” I blush even now to write such lewd things.

“You,” Johnathan said hoarsely. Perhaps I felt a flare of jealousy, but I could not blame him.

Emil undressed them both, and soon I was not alone in bed.

I do not yet have the courage, I think, to recount all that happened between them, only that I had not known much of it was possible, or seemingly enjoyable to both parties. Watching it was an experience, one that left me overly-warm and anxious.

Emil pulled away from Johnathan, something of a leer on his face. “Come Johnathan, I do believe dear Mina needs us.”

Before I could say anything even my shift was gone, and Emil’s head...settled between my legs. There were fingers and tongue and lips, and soon he was replaced by Johnathan, not as sure or confident. Emil’s soft voice felt a counterpoint to the loudness inside me as he spoke to Johnathan.

They traded back and forth, until I could not contain my sounds, crying and screaming as I was overcome by a most glorious feeling.

Then there was more, until it seemed as if no more emotion could be wrung out of Johnathan or I. We both feel asleep soon after.

I do not know what time it was when I woke, only that the fire had burned down to embers, and Emil must have put out all the candles. I found matches in the little writing desk in the corner, and once I lit a candle I’ve written all I dare down here.

Johnathan still sleeps, but I can feel Emil watching me. I wonder what he makes of me, nude and writing furiously. I wonder if he even slept at all. Perhaps even soon enough I will work up the courage to ask what manner of being he is.

“Come to bed, Mina,” he murmurs to me. So I will go.


	62. Phonograph, telegram, Lucy's diary; 23, August

Seward’s Phonograph, cont.

I should not be surprised that Flyman has flaunted my expectations, for he seems to partly thrive on being unpredictable. Although to be fair to my own prediction he may still ask for a feline companion by the end of the month, but eight days is certainly not long enough to fit into his previous pattern. Not with him only having moved to sparrows today from the looks of it.

It is strange to see that their birdsong appears to bring about a change in my other patients too. Perhaps I shall mention this to some other scientist and they shall investigate it to their heart's content. It feels like such a lesser thing, after all, compared to my Flyman.

* * *

Telegram from Mary Czajka

_Kiev to London_

I know you do not wish for thanks, Madam, for what you did for Alojzy and I. But I am compelled to give it, and to tell you that should you ever need anything, we will give it.

Mary Czajka

* * *

Lucy’s Diary, cont.

23, A-Another Dănești party tonight, though this one I did drag Arthur to, in the hopes it would distract him from his ailing father, and the process of disowning his sister—the poor girl.

At least this time Helene was not dreadful to him, though her smile seemed strange as she greeted him and made us welcome. It seemed we had only settled down for a second before Hajni stole me away from him, which at the time made me laugh. I could not be too mad at her, for I soon found myself in the company of Mina and Johnathan, who were both quite pleased to see me, and I them. Mina and I had an all-too-brief tea yesterday, and it hardly gave us time to even catch up.

The Prince himself was there tonight as well, mingling and speaking, though I found myself noticing he often glanced at Mina and Johnathan, for whatever reason. I only noticed it once or twice anyways, for I truly was lost in good conversation and companionship. They both spoke so highly of Paris I shall have to try and convince Arthur we shall have to stop their on our own honeymoon, though I am sure it will be more of a Grand Tour than anything else.

Married...if things do not change drastically we shall be wed in about a month’s time, a thing which I can scarcely believe now. Mamma has thrown herself into the planning, which I think does her health not one jot of good, but she cannot be swayed. She will see me happy and married before she dies, or so help her God.

Yet despite Mina for my own example, I find myself doubting. Will marriage make me truly happy? I still believe I love Arthur, yet I am also certain that whatever it is I feel for Helene, it far eclipses my feelings towards Arthur. I know I put forth the image that I was a charmingly feckless woman, but I did not think it the truth of me until now.

Ah, that is Helene tapping at my window.


	63. Lucy's Diary, cont; 24, August

24, A-Arthur came by again today, looking much beset. His father has taken another turn for the worse, and the doctors fear he’s not long for the world. Arthur himself was quite apologetic in suggesting we postpone the wedding should that happen, and seem quite relieved when I said that would suit.

As we are engaged, mamma doesn’t chaperone anymore, meaning I could direct the cook to give us a little more for tea. Which she seemed to take as welcome invitation to fuss, for she sent two pots of tea, a beef tea for me, and Ceylon for Arthur.

Which seemed to spur Arthur into action, for he commented I did look paler than usual, and he hoped he wasn’t being too terrible a fiancé  for not noticing before, and he also hoped I was well.

It was quite easy to lie and say it was a trifle. Though I fear it’s because Helene was too enthusiastic when she visited, clearly not spending all her time with me at the party did not sit well with her. So she was more attentive and affectionate than usual, and I’m afraid she drunk a bit too deeply. I know I shall recover shortly, but it is not a pleasant experience the day after.

Hajni stopped by soon after, and joined us for tea; I’m thankful that Arthur didn’t realize I offered her none, for what explanation could I give? I know some, but for all I know Helene and the Dănești are some strange foreign fairy folk. For I’ve heard that the ones in Ireland are crueler than the ones in England, so perhaps the ones from other countries are more different still. Perhaps if I asked Hajni or Piri they would give me a more direct answer, maybe even Dănești himself would, though there is something a little frightening about him.

Here I am again, prattling on. Even though I’ve given myself permission to, it does feel guilty to do so after a fashion.

That is Jenny at the door however, for mamma and I are going to a dinner party of some old friend of hers. I fear it will be a terrible bore.


	64. Letter from Arthur Holmwood to John Seward

Albemarle Hotel

My Dear Jack,

I hope our friendship is still enough that you will do this favor for me, Jack. For Lucy is ill. That is so say there does not seem to be any particular malady she is suffering from, but by my own account she appears to be growing worse and worse every day.

I have asked her if there is any cause, and she tells me she has been sleeping poorly; but I fear that is somewhat a lie. Yet I dare not ask Lady Westenra, for to disturb her in this way about Lucy’s health may prove fatal. She has confided in me that her doom is spoken, a disease of the heart, though she has sworn me to silence in telling Lucy.

I am sure there is something preying on my dear girl’s mind, which contributes to this ill health and sleepless nights. I myself find my own mind distracted every time I think upon her, and I am forever struck by her whenever I look upon her.

I told her I would ask you to see her, at first she demurred—likely to not cause trouble between us—but after some convincing she agreed.

It will be a painful task for you, old friend, I am sure. But as it concerns Lucy’s health I hope old wounds can be ignored in favor of seeing her hale and hearty again. So I cannot hesitate to ask, or you to act. You are to come to Hillingham tomorrow for lunch at two, so as not to arouse suspicion in Lady Westenra, and after lunch Lucy will manage to be alone with you.

I shall come by for tea a while later and we’ll leave together.

This heart in my chest is a dratted thing, distracting me and filling me with anxiety because of her. I know it is love, yet it does not feel it. I can at least stop myself from rushing to the both of you right then and there, all the quicker to know what is wrong and how to fix it.

Do not fail me Jack, please.

Arthur


	65. Telegram, phonograph, diary; 1, September

Telegram from Arthur to Seward

Being summoned to see my father, who is worse. So cannot come to Hillingham. Write to me fully by tonight’s post, to Ring. Wire if it is bad.

* * *

Seward’s phonograph, cont

It is a good thing I made no bet with myself over Flyman’s habits, for if I had I would have lost soundly. Today, the first of September, is the day of all days he asks for a cat.

I have an inkling why he wished for a cat, but as I had secured a kitten a few days ago, that is what I gave him. Perhaps the extended time by which it needs to grow into cathood will give Flyman a greater bonding with it and allow him to break this cycle of animals.

He was much pleased with the kitten, petting and cooing at it as if it were a baby. While I wished to stay and observe what would occur, I needed away. For dear Lucy needed my attention, by Arthur’s own command. She is a far greater thing than Flyman can ever hope to be. So now I must away now, or I shall miss the train.

* * *

Lucy’s Diary, cont.

1, S—Seward has come and gone, and Piri seems content to let me write now, she works on a needlepoint of some sort as I do so.

I perhaps feel a little bad lying to Seward as I have, though I found it fun in a way too. Perhaps to try and prove that I am indeed a nut he cannot crack, though he seems to think he has. He did not, at least, try to hypnotize me again, though recollecting the time he had I cannot say I felt much of anything which he described would happen. But that is not now.

He did not tell me what he thought of all I showed him, so I can only hope Arthur will do so soon, only wore a continuous frown on his face, eyebrows beetled together. I am perhaps a little relieved I rejected his suit, for I cannot imagine living with such an expression day in and out. Now I will not have to, so it is all for the best.

“You may tell Helene no, you know this right, Lucy?” Piri’s question breaks our shared quietude.

I _do_ know, but I am loathed to. Everything, even her taking my blood, is so exciting and new that I feel I cannot deny her anything, certainly nothing of myself.

So I only nodded in response to the question, grateful when she spoke no further on the subject.


	66. Letters, Harker's journal, cont; 2, September

Letter from Seward to Arthur

My dear old fellow,

In regards to Miss Westenra’s health, I hasten to tell you that in my opinion she suffers from no functional disturbance or malady that I know of. However, after my examination, I find no satisfaction with her appearance, as you are: as you suggested she is woefully different from what she was the last time I saw her. Bear in mind as you read the following, that I did not have a chance to make a full examination as I should have wished; our friendship making it difficult, which neither custom or medical science can bridge.

Now, I shall tell you exactly all that happened, leaving you to draw your own conclusions before I present mine, then I shall tell you what I have done and propose doing.

I found Miss Westenra in gay spirits, or the appearance of. Her mother, and a Lady Piroska  Danesti— a relation, I think of the Danesti who bought Carfax…  please ignore my musings, Art, forgot myself there for a moment—were present as well. I quickly made note that Miss Westenra’s appearance was an attempt to mislead her mother, and prevent her from being anxious. So even if she does not know, she seems to guess what need for caution there is. We lunched, and as we all appeared interested in attempting cheerfulness, I think we might have actually gotten some. Then Lady Westenra went to lie down and Lucy and Lady Danesti left with me. We went into her boudoir, and till we got there her gaiety remained. I thought she would keep it up even after she had closed the door—for Lady Danesti remained, yet the moment it closed the mask fell from her face. She sank down with a great sigh and hid her eyes with a hand and hair.

I barely paid notice to Lady Danesti as she sat by the vanity, for now that Lucy’s mask had dropped I could make a true diagnosis. I began to ask questions.

To which she sweetly replied: ‘I cannot tell you how I’m loathed to speak of myself.’ A good sentiment, perhaps, but not at all useful. I pressed gently, reminding her that as her doctor our confidence was sacred, though you were quite anxious about her.

Thankfully she had mind enough to catch my meaning, nodding slowly. “Yes, you may tell Arthur what you chose, I care not.’ So I am free to tell you all.

Already I could tell Lucy was quite pale and bloodless, and having touched her hands earlier knew they were a little clammy, yet I could see no other signs of anæmia. I was actually able to see the quality of her blood, for she complained mildly of a sunbeam in her eye and went to close the window, giving herself a splinter from the frame. It was only a slight injury, and easily dealt with, but I drew a few drops of blood from the wound after I’d drawn the splinter out. 

The qualitative analysis gave a normal condition, and shows, one would infer, a quite vigorous state of health. In other physical matters I could see no need for anxiety either; but we are both clear that she is ill, so there must be cause from somewhere else. The only possible conclusion is that her state must be caused by something mental. She did complain slightly of lethargic sleep, and some shortness of breath; and that as a child she used to walk in her sleep, which occurred again while in Whitby, but assured me the state had not happened since her return to London.

Despite being a doctor of the mind, my specialization is not in women’s minds, and since I cannot find the way, I have contacted someone who should have better luck: my old friend and master, Professor Van Helsing, currently of Amsterdam. His knowledge of obscure diseases is far beyond my own. I gave him only the barest sketching of everything, since a telegram was quickest.

When he does arrive, you will trust him as much as I do, Art. I know he would do anything for me for personal reasons, so whether he comes for that reason or professional, we must trust his decisions. They may seem arbitrary to us, but that is because we know not as much as he does. He is a philosopher and metaphysician, and one of the most advanced scientists I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. He also has, I believe, an absolutely open mind. Which, when combined with an iron nerve, the temper of an ice-brook, an indomitable resolution and self command; would make him seem a terror. Yet all is tempered with toleration to the highest degree, as well as the kindest and truest of hearts. Thus is his equipment that he employs to work for mankind—both theoretical and practical, for his views are as wide as his all-embracing sympathy.

I tell you this all, so that you might know him as I do, and understand why I feel such confidence.

I have asked him to come at once. I have arranged to see Lucy tomorrow again, though we are to meet at the Stores, so that I will not alarm her mother by too early a repetition of my call.

Yrs always,

John Seward

* * *

Letter, express, from Abraham Van Helsing, M.D., D.Ph., D. Lit., Etc., Etc., to Dr. Seward

_ 2, September _

Friend!

Such timing! For when I have received your telegram, I am already coming to you. So I can leave just at once, without wrong to any of those who have trusted me. Were it other, I still would come, to the misfortune of those who do trust me here, for I come to my friend always when he calls me to aid those he holds dear.

Tell your friend that when that time you suck from my wound so swiftly the poison of the gangrene from that knife that our other friend let slip, you did more for this young lady than this friend’s fortune could do. So it will be to his pleasure that I come, though it is for you that I come.

I shall wish to be met at the station when I arrive tomorrow, so I hope you have arranged for us to meet too late that day. Though we both might wish I stay if we find something, I fear I must return to Amsterdam that night. But shall be able to return in three days, and stay longer if it must. While away both of us may better educate on what we learn by our examination.

Until then, goodbye, friend John,

Van Helsing

* * *

Harker’s journal, cont.

_ 2, Sept _ —It is perhaps strange how easily Mina and I have fallen into new habits and patterns now that we are married, and how easily those things have shifted to...accommodate Emil.

We do not see him every day, but most of them since the events of two weeks ago. That it has been two weeks shocks me now.

But in a way it has been months, after all. For he seemed intent to have me so soon after my own arrival, and Mina confided quite readily how kind he was to her upon their meeting in July. I’m not sure to call all that happened a courtship is at all correct, yet what else could it be?

Rambling on and wondering does not change what is, however, so it does me no good to ponder too much.

Work at the office has grown considerably since the party Emil invited us to, many of the men there asked after me and my profession, and soon after requested our services, much to Mr. Hawkins delight. And there is rumor going around the pen that someone will likely be chosen to be a new senior partner, since Mr. Renfield has left completely and Mr. Hawkins cannot do it all himself thanks to his gout.

Emil is at the doorway, teasing me for writing when there are more interesting things to be done downstairs.


	67. Letter, Lucy's diary; 3, September

Letter from Seward to Holmwood

Dear Art,

Van Helsing has already come and gone now. Instead of meeting Lucy at the shops as planned, we went on to Hillingham; for Lucy, with surprising cleverness, had convinced her mother to lunch out, so that we needed not worry about her.

He made a very careful examination of the patient. Though all that he might have discerned is still unknown to me, for while he is to report to me so I might convey to you, I was not present for the examination itself. Even so I can tell he is much concerned, but says he must think on it.

When I conveyed to him the seriousness of our friendship, over tea when we’d gotten back into town, and your trust in me in this matter he gave a grave nod. ‘You must tell him all you think. And what I think, if you can guess it. Nay, I am not jesting. This is not the time for such, for it is life or death, perhaps more.’ 

I asked what he meant by that. Yet he would give me no further clue, so he clearly means for this to be a lesson for me.

Yet you must not be angry with me, or him, Art. For his reticence to speak means that all his brains are working. Working towards Lucy’s health and wellness. He will speak plainly enough when the time comes.

So I shall just report to you all that I know of what happened today.

Lucy was more cheerful than the other day, and already looked better. Certainly she did not look half so ghastly as you noted, and her breathing seemed more normal to my ear.

She was very sweet to the professor, and did her best to play hostess to the both of us. Though I could see it was a hard struggle for her. Van Helsing noticed too, as he notices all things. So he began a meandering conversation of everything under the sun save her diseases with that old charm of his. Such was his geniality that even poor Lucy reacted to it, like a sunflower to the light, and her pretense became reality.

Then, without any seeming change, he managed to bring the conversation around to her and her malady.

“My dear young miss, I know now why you are such beloved, and it brings me great pleasure to agree. I was told you were down in spirit, and ghastly pale. To them I say ‘Bah!” He snapped his fingers as he leaned towards her. “You and I shall show them how wrong they are,” he said this almost conspiratorially. “How can he”—and here he pointed at me as he was wont to do during his lessons—“know anything of young ladies? He is too focused on his good work, and what good work it is! Bringing his madmen back to happiness and the families that love them. So he give no thought to young ladies! No wife, no daughter, how could he know? For the young not tell all to the young, but to the old, as me, yes?” He gave a broad grin. “So, my dear, we shall send him away to have cigarette, whiles you and I have our talk.”

I took the hint, but my stroll was a short one, for he soon called me back in. He looked grave as he told me: “I made careful examination, but there is no functional cause. There has been much blood lost, but not anæmic, as you say. I have even spoke to the maid, but she gave no answer I did not expect. So what is cause? For there is always cause.

“But now I must return home, for work. But I shall think, think deeply!, upon this. Telegram everyday, and if her situation change, I shall drop all and return posthaste. For the disease—to not be well is a disease we all agree on—is curious, and the sweet young thing, interest me too. So it is for her, not the disease of you, that I come.”

He would say not a word more, even when we were alone.

Now you know all that I do, Art. Know full well I shall keep stern watch, as I have so many other times.

I hope your father is rallying. I cannot imagine myself in your position, dear old fellow, torn between the two people you perhaps love most in the world. Yet you are right to keep to your duty to your father, as you are all he has left. Yet if need be, I shall send word of you of Lucy, should she need you more. So think nothing more of her, unless you hear from me.

* * *

Lucy’s diary, cont.

3, S—That Van Helsing disquiets me so. Though I can find no cause in his person for such a reaction. It is something unspeakable then, yet I feel it wholly.

It was enough to make me wish Helene, or Mina, were there. Either are far more fierce than I could ever hope to be, and would have been on him like a hawk. While it took everything in me to keep my secrets hidden deep, and tell him nothing of the truth. Even Hajni would have been good company against him.

“The young speak to the old,” _bah!_ What nonsense. Though he is right that I have told no one, for who _should_ I tell. Certainly not Arthur, Piri and Hajni already know, but they are old too. Kate is dear, but too much of a gossip, I fear. Mina? Oh dearest, what will you think of me if I tell you? That I have not lashes at me, but I cannot think of losing your friendship.

Tomorrow, I shall tell you all tomorrow. No matter what might happen. Including Van Helsing and my dislike. Perhaps if we put our heads together we shall come up with some ruse that will satisfy all.

I do grow tired of it though, I...I _do_ love Arthur still, but if he had said naught I would not be under such scrutiny. Such that I am fair tempted to tell Helene that we should go. Far away, though perhaps not so far as to prevent Mina and Kate from visiting.


	68. phonograph, telegram, journal; 4, September

Seward’s Phonograph, cont.

Flyman still keeps up my interest in him, even with my concern over Lucy. I was not there to witness it, but he had an outburst yesterday at an unusual time. Hennessey noted the time for me, thankfully. So that I know just before noon Flyman began to grow restless, which is when Hennessey summoned aid. Fortunately for him, the other keepers came at a run, for at the stroke of noon Flyman became so violent that it took their combined strength to hold him.

It began to fade soon after, I am told, until he fell into his current state: melancholy, the likes of which even his kitten demanding food cannot pull him from.

When I came in the other patients were still in an uproar, for Flyman’s screams were really appalling. So I found my hands full, and calming them was a welcome distraction.

It is the dinner hour now, and Flyman still sits in the corner brooding. Most of the sparrows have gone, not because he has fed them to the kitten, though he has fed it many these past few days, but because they have intelligence enough to know there is a hunter now amongst them. The kitten has stopped complaining, and apparently seeks to hunt for itself, though there is naught but flies. I have told the keepers to give Flyman his usual food, if he does not eat it the kitten likely will.

Close to midnight now. There has been another change in Flyman while I was away. I’d been to see Lucy, whom I found much improved, and had just returned. The sunset painted the glass windows in lurid flames, made more hellish by the screams and cries of the patients; Flyman’s the worst of them.

When I got to his room, his paroxysm had ended. And it speaks to the power of intellectual recovery lunatics have. For only after a few minutes by my count he’d pulled himself up from the floor where he’d lain, his expression quite calm and composed, and looked around him. Walking to the window he forcefully swept away the sugar he’d been using to draw flies, which had in turn kept some of the sparrows nearby at such easy pickings.

He looked about his room again, chucking his flybox out the window wholesale before closing the window. He scooped the kitten up from the bed and promptly handed it to me, before sitting on the bed himself.

This all left me quite startled, so I asked him: “Are you not going to keep anything anymore?”

“No,” he sounded almost vicious. “I am sick of all that rubbish!”

I cannot tell if he has somehow broken free of his cycle and is on the road to recovery, or if this is some new madness that has gripped him. I wish I could glimpse the inner workings of his mind, that I might infer the cause of this sudden reversal. If he recovers before I can work it all out, this study of mine will be for naught.

Mem. must find home now for the kitten, perhaps one of the keepers has a child it would delight.

* * *

Telegram, Seward to Van Helsing

PATIENT BETTER TODAY

* * *

Mina’s journal, cont.

_ 4, Sept _ —I have clearly been quite selfish these past few days, for until today’s visit with Lucy I’d perhaps quite forgotten about her. Lost in my own life as it were.

She looked a little paler than she had at the party, but she ate and drank heartily to my relief, so I felt a little guilty.

Moreso when she recounted her last few days, and what she’d gone through. I apologized profusely, and resolved to be there for her more, for she is clearly going through much. Though that there could be no cause made for what ailed her frustrated me some.

Which Lucy picked up upon, and laughed at my expression. “I know what ails me, Mina dear, and I hope you do not hate me much from keeping this from you for so long.” She blushed deeply, and I could not tell if I became more worried, or if it was curiosity I felt.

“That is to say, that I know the cause, and hope that once I tell it to you, you will understand and help me instead of turn away.” She took my hands, clenching them quite tightly. “It is Helene! Oh, to say it to someone is is quite a relief. She comes, many nights, and lays with me, we speak, and touch, and sometimes,  _ many _ times she...drinks of my blood.” Her expression grew quite fierce as she continued. “And I love her, so dearly, Mina. As much as you love Jonathan, if you can fathom such a thing.”

She released me and fell away, as if all the ferocity drained out of her in a rush. “There, I have said all, or all that needs to be said,” she continued quietly. “Now will you say something, Mina? Please?”

I pulled her to me, hugging her close. Telling her that I was sorry for being such a poor friend, that she did not tell me such things. Though I spoke not of the worries I’d had about Helene, for it seemed perhaps they were for naught—I shall keep watch still, but I trust better now that Lucy understands what Helene is.

Lucy cried a little, and I did resolve to look after her better. I had not recognized what happened to her, despite knowing the same as her, because Emil never drank too deeply, having the two of us between him. Though he had indicated he might do differently in the future, depending.

I touched her throat gently, at the place where I knew the bite to now be, though it was covered by her dress. I told her since she had shared such a secret with me, I needed to confess I had kept one of my own. Even if I had not done so for as long as she had.

Pulling away from her, I undid the first few buttons of my blouse, enough to pull it away from my neck and reveal my own mark—it is not the only place I have been bitten, but showing elsewhere would be far too scandalous.

She gasped, and sharply demanded: “Who?”

“Emil, Prince  Dănești,” I explained. “Since Jonathan and I returned from Paris.”

“But what of Jonathan?” She exclaimed.

Now I blushed as deeply as she had earlier. “Emil drinks from him too,” I admitted, voice a rush. Hurriedly I did up my buttons again, as if I might need to escape quickly.

Lucy stared at me, wide-eyed, as if not quite believing it. “Oh, Mina, what has become of us?”

I did not know how to answer, even now I do not. Or even know if I  _ should _ answer. For has anything truly become of us? Or are we only discovering things we had not known before?

Luckily I turned the conversation back to her problem with Van Helsing, promising I would return tomorrow that we might plot it between the two of us. Which pleased her greatly. I had to leave however, for my own dinner with Jonathan.

I passed Dr. Seward on the way out, who gave me a curt nod as he headed in. I followed him for a moment with my gaze, for knowing what I know now, I find I trust his ways less than I did before.


	69. Telegram, Lucy's diary cont; 5, Sept.

Telegram, Seward to Van Helsing

PATIENT GREATLY IMPROVED. GOOD APPETITE; SLEEPS NATURALLY; GOOD SPIRITS; COLOUR COMING BACK.

* * *

Lucy’s diary, cont

5, S-Endured another visit from Seward today. I know he has promised to check on me daily, but he need not seem so zealous about it. It’s almost enough that I regret convincing mamma to go out yesterday, if she hadn’t, she’d likely call this all highly improper and tell him to stop. Though I’m not sure Seward and Van Helsing would listen.

Thankfully it was not a long encounter, and soon after Kate arrived. It is hard to be gloomy while listening to her go on about the schoolgirls, bringing on many a recollection of our own younger days. It was a pleasing few hours, but I did not mourn to see her go. For soon after we’d parted mamma allowed me to go and call on the  Dănești.

Even the Prince seemed pleased to see me when I arrived, pressing a fond kiss to the back of my hand before he left on some work.

Helene, Piri, and Hajni welcomed me warmly as always. And like Kate it did a world of good for my spirits.

I was telling them all about Seward and Van Helsing when Mina arrived, which started another flurry of welcomes, though that did not stop me from noticing that Helene became more still than usual at the mention of a Van Helsing from Amsterdam. I failed to ask her about it then, and later on, I shall strive to do so the next time.

The five of us did put our heads to it, and came up with something of an easy solution: when I saw Seward tomorrow, I would complain of cramps and other such things as experienced during one’s mense. Which should hopefully dissuade Seward, men tend to be terrified of it for reasons none of us can discern.

Before I left Helene murmured that she would visit, which gave me time to give some  chloral to Jenny, so she would not disturb us.

It was approaching midnight when Helene tapped on my window. I welcomed her in gladly and we curled up together in bed, spending the next few hours talking of everything and nothing; Helene promising to show me all the wonders of the world when all here is said and done. I truly am breathless for it, but wonder if as the years pass, Helene will grow less interested in me.

I did not say as much, but Helene must have sensed some of my disquiet. For she pulled me closer, and to my surprise bit her wrist before offering it to me.

It may not be the first time I had her blood, but it felt far more blatant this time, not hidden by kisses and smiles. I did it anyways, though she soon pulled me away to kiss me, the blood making it messier.

She stayed longer, until well after dawn, when she did leave I moved to write this all down. Now that I have I shall endeavor to sleep, hopefully I will catch a good amount before Jenny comes to wake me.


	70. Telegram, letter, Lucy's diary cont; 6, Sept

Telegram, Seward to Van Helsing

CHANGE FOR THE WORSE. INSISTS MENSE, BUT DO NOT BELIEVE IT. PLEASE RETURN TO ADVISE.

* * *

Letter, Seward to Holmwood

My dear Art,

Today is not so good, Lucy this morning having gone back some. There is silver lining however, as Lady Westenra sought to consult me professionally. I have told her of my old master, Van Helsing, who would be coming to stay with me and would be most helpful in making Lucy well. So now we can come and go as we please, and she will not be unduly alarmed. For at this point it feels as if a shock to one will spill over to the other, hysteria being contagious like that, and cause untold damage to all.

So it seems as if we are beset on all sides by difficulties, yet I trust with Van Helsing at the helm we shall thread the needle and make it to safety.

I will write to you again when I have need to, so do not worry overmuch about the lack of post.

Yours ever,

John Seward

* * *

Lucy’s Diary, cont

6, S-Everything feels blurry and not quite where I expect it to be, so hopefully this is legible enough. I do not think Seward believed me when he visited this morning, but I was tired and a little listless, so was perhaps not as convincing as I should have been…

Helene’s visit is catching up to me…


	71. Seward's phonograph, cont; 7, Sept

The first thing Van Helsing said to me when we met at the station was: “Have you said anything to our young friend? The lover of her?”

“No,” I answered. “I waited until I’d seen you. I did write a letter simply telling him that you were coming, as Lucy was not so well, and that I would send him news if any.”

“As should be,” he agreed. “Quite right! Better for his worries to be lessened, if he ever truly need know at all. I pray that it manages to be so; but if there is no other choice, then he shall know all as we do. For you well know to deal discreetly with your madmen. You do not tell them what you do, or why you do it, you do not explain your thoughts to them. For it is useless for them to know. They have no knowledge as you do, so you keep it in it’s place, where it may rest—and draw it’s kind to it and grow. You and I shall keep as yet what we know, here, and here.” He touched me on the heart and the forehead, before doing the same to himself. “I have my own knowledge at the present, but only later shall I unfold to you.”

“Why not now?” I asked. For we still had some time before we would reach Hillingham. “It may do some good; and together we may arrive at some better decision.”

He stopped and looked at me. “My friend John. When the wheat is not ripened, yet while the milk of it’s Mother Earth is in him, and the sunshine has not yet begun to paint him golden. The husbandman he pull the ear and rub him between rough hands, blow away the green chaff and say to you: ‘Look! He good corn, he will make good crop when ripened.’”

I did not see the application, and told him so. For reply he reached over and took my ear in his hand and pulled it sharply, as he used to do long ago in lectures.

“The good husbandman,” he continued patiently. “Tell you so because he know, but not till then. You do not find the good husbandman dig up his planted wheat to see if he grow. That is for children who play at husbandry, and not for those who take it as the work of their life. You understand, yes? I have sown my wheat, and now I must leave it to Mother Nature to do her work in making it sprout. If it sprout at all, there is some promise, then I must even wait for the ear to swell.” He saw that I understood for he broke off. 

Then went on again, quite gravely: “You were always the best student I took under my wing when others refused you. Your case book ever more full than the others before. Then you were only student; now you are master, and I hope the good habit has not failed. Recall me words: that knowledge is stronger than memory, and we should not trust the weaker. Even if you have not kept up the practice, do so now! Take careful note of all! Even the insignificant. Put down even your doubt and surmises. Hereafter it may be of interest to all to see how true you guess. For failure is great teacher, not success!”

Thus encouraged, I described Lucy’s symptoms, and further expounded on her own womanly claim. Van Helsing looked very grave, but said nothing.

When we reached the gate he checked over his bag, which was full of the usual instruments and drugs, ‘the ghastly paraphernalia of our beneficial trade’ as he once called it.

Lady Westenra met us when we were shown in. She did not look half so frightened and worried as before. Nature, in one of her beneficial moods, has ordained that even death has some antidote to its own terrors.

See here, for in this case where any shock may prove fatal, matters are so ordered that, from some cause or other, the things not wholly personal—as like the terrible change to her daughter whom she loves—do not seem to reach her. As if there is an envelope of some insensitive tissue now around her, which guards against evil that would harm her. So perhaps we should pause before we condemn such ordered selfishness as the vice of egoism. For the cause may be deeper roots than we know.

I used my vast knowledge of this phase of spiritual pathology, and laid down a rule that she should not be present with Lucy, or think of her illness more than was absolutely required.

She assented readily. Even patting my cheek to praise me for being such a good doctor. “My Lucy sleeps better now, so she shall be perfect for the wedding.” So that is how she guards herself, in the wedding of her daughter, so it is rightly that a mother should.

A maid showed us up to Lucy’s room.

If I was shocked when I saw her yesterday, I was horrified when I saw her today. Somehow had sat her upright, but she still appeared listless, as if she might fall over at any moment, and her breathing was so weak and shallow it was if she were already dead. Van Helsing’s face grew set as marble and approached her. He checked her wrist, then took me with him as he retreated from the room.

The instant we had closed the door, he moved quickly to the next door, which was open. Once in there he closed that door. “My God!” He said. “This is dreadful, she is as Bismark said Germany would be if another war with France! There is no time to be lost, her pulse and cold skin cry out for blood, even if she be not pale.There must be transfusion at once! Is it you, or me?”

“I am younger and stronger, Professor.” I said quickly. “It must be me!”

“Then prepare at once. I will bring up my bag, then I shall be prepared as well.”

Despite his words, I followed him downstairs, he had grabbed his bag, and we were to return to Lucy, when there was a knock at the door. When we reached the main hall, the maid was just opening the door, and Arthur was stepping quickly in.

Seeing me he rushed over, his words leaving him in the same sort of rush: “Jack, read between the lines of your letter, and they have left me in agony. The dad was better, so I ran down to see all for myself. Is this that gentleman Dr. Van Helsing? I am so thankful to you, sir, for coming.”

While Van Helsing’s expression might have been one of anger at the disturbance, once he’d seen Art and taken in the stalwart proportions and recognized the strong young manhood which he emanated, his eyes gleamed. He took Art’s hand readily, giving it a hearty shake.

“Sir, you have come at the best time. I know you to be the lover of our dear miss, even without friend John’s words. She is bad now, very, very bad. Nay, my son, do not go like that.” For Art had paled and sat down, almost in a faint himself. “You have helped already, for your word is what alerted us. Now you may help again! Indeed you can do more than any that live, and your courage now is the best help of all.”

Art stood in a rush, seeming alive again. “What can I do?” Was his hoarse demand. “Tell me, and I shall do it! Even though she is not yet my wife, I promise my life is already hers. I would give the last drop of my blood for her if that was what it took.”

The Professor has a strongly humorous side, as already shown in his comment about Lucy, and here it showed itself again in his answer. “Young sir! I do not ask so much as that, not the last drop at least!” He slapped Art on the shoulder. “Come! You are a man, and it is a man we want. Far better one than either of us.” Which seemed to bewilder Art, but Van Helsing kindly continued. “As I say, young miss is bad. She wants blood, or she die. My friend John and I have consulted, and we are about to perform what we call transfusion of blood. Which is to say we shall transfer from full veins of one, to empty veins which pine for him. John was to be him, as he is more young and strong than me”—here Arthur took my hand and squeezed it hard—“but now you are here! You are more good than us, old or young. For we toil too much in the world of thought. Our nerves are not so calm, and our blood not bright as yours!”

Arthur turned to him. “If you only knew how gladly I would die for her, you would understand—” he stopped, voice too choked to continue.

“Good boy! In the not-so-far-off you will be happy that you have done all for your love. Come how, and be silent. You shall be able to kiss her once, before it is done, but then you must go! You must leave at my sign. Say no word to Lady, you know how it is with her. Come!”

Now we all went up to Lucy’s room. Arthur, by direction, remained outside. Lucy barely managed to turn her head to look at us, and she could say nothing. So she was not asleep, but too weak even to make that effort. Her bright eyes spoke enough for the rest of her: she needed our help and was grateful we were here.

Van Helsing took some things from his bag, and laid them out on the table, out of her sight. Then he mixed a narcotic, and coming over to the bed, said cheerfully: “Here is your medicine, little miss. Drink it like a good child now. See, I even lift so that you to swallow is easy.” To my relief she managed it all.

Thankfully it acted quickly, so perhaps she is not as lost as we feared, and soon she fell into a deep sleep. When the Professor was satisfied he called Arthur into the room, and bade him strip off his coat. Then added: “You may take that one kiss, while I bring over the table. Friend John, help me.” So neither of us were looking whilst he bent over her. Excitedly, Van Helsing bent towards me as we moved the table. “He is so young, and strong, and of blood so pure, that I believe we need not defibrinate it!” To which I agreed.

Then with swiftness, but with absolute method, Van Helsing performed the operation. As the transfusion went on, something like life seemed to come back to poor Lucy’s cheeks. Even through Art’s growing pallor, his own joy at the sight shone through. After a bit I began to grow anxious, for the loss of blood was telling Arthur, even as strong as man as he is.

Which only proved how bad Lucy was, the strain her system was under. That even enough blood to weaken Art was enough to only partly restore her.

The Professor had no such anxiety, his face set and eyes on the watch in his hand, only to occasionally move to Lucy, or Art. I could hear my own heart beat in the silence. Presently he said. “Now stir, but gently, it is enough. You attend him, I will look to her.”

Now that I was over, I could see how weakened Arthur was. I dressed the wound and moved to help bring him away, when Van Helsing spoke again, without looking to us. “The brave lover has earned himself another kiss, which he should have presently.” And as he had finished his own tending, he stepped away to show Lucy now prone on her bed, giving her almost the look of poor Ophelia. As he had done so, the shawl Lucy wore, buckled with the old diamond brooch Art had given her, was dragged down a little, showed a deathly white mark on her throat. Art did not notice it as he bent down to Lucy again, but I could hear the deep hiss of indrawn breath which is one of Van Helsing’s ways of betraying emotion.

He said nothing to me at the moment, however, instead turning to say: “Now take down our brave lover and give him some port before lying down a while. You must then go home! Eat and sleep all you can! To remake what you have given to the miss lover. Do not stay here. But before you go: relieve yourself to know that in all ways the operation was a success. Her life has been saved now, and you may rest easy. When she awakens I shall tell her of your brave deed, as you were a knight of old making some chivalrous gesture. As a gently lady she is, I know it will improve her even more to know.”

After Arthur had gone, I returned to Lucy’s room. She now seemed to be sleeping gently, and her breathing was stronger. Van Helsing sat by the bedside, looking at her bare throat intently. “What do you make of the mark on her throat?” I whispered, for I already knew it well, and it’s cause.

“What do you make of it?”

I moved closer, loosening the shawl more to reveal it better to my eyes. It sat on the small vein still, showing no sign of infection or disease, but the edges were worn looking. I told him how I knew it, that I’d seen it on her months ago in Whitby, when I’d been called to help with Lucy’s sleepwalking, and that Miss Murray had claimed it was from the very same brooch she still wore. “Yet if that is true, why has the wound not healed? I cannot be the cause of all her blood loss, for the bed would be soaked through if that were the case.”

Van Helsing’s expression deepened. “I must go back to Amsterdam tonight,” he said as he stood. “There are books and things there which I want. You must remain here all through night, and do not cease to watch her.”

“Should it not be a nurse?” I said. For even to me it seemed highly improper.

“We are the best nurses, you and I.” Van Helsing countered easily. “You keep watch, make her eat, and see that no one disturbs her, not even friends. Sleep later, you must. I shall be back as soon as possible. Then we may begin!”

“Begin? What on Earth do you mean?”

“Wheat, Friend John. Think of wheat,” he answered as he hurried out.


	72. Seward's phonograph, cont; 8, Sept.

As promised, I sat up all night with Lucy.

I am surprised to note how many callers Lucy seemed to have during the day, though the maid managed to turn them all away, as I’d instructed her to. I’m certain I heard Miss Murray’s voice among the lot of them, and considering my previous experience with her I would not have been surprised if she’d managed to bully the poor maid into letting her up anyways.

She didn’t, thankfully, which is for the best. For it does seem to be the habit of women to gather close to each other when one is sick, nevermind that they, too, will likely fall ill. Though I doubt what Lucy has is contagious, it is better to be safe than sorry, as Quincy would say.

The opiate worked itself off late in the evening, and she woke fairly naturally. She did look a wholly different creature than she did that morning before the operation. Her spirits seemed in good form, especially after she saw me, but I could still tell her ordeal had taken a toll on her for all that she was better.

When I told Lady Westenra that Van Helsing had directed me to sit up with Lucy, she nearly refused the idea, citing her daughter’s renewed strength and excellent spirits. “She has slept well, and I’ll always make sure she sleeps well from now on,” she said confidently. As if a mother’s direction were all it took for it to be so. Ah, if only!

I was firm with her, and she gave way quickly, so I prepared for my long vigil.

Lucy’s maid readied her for sleep, while I ate my supper, and when I returned I took up what was to be my seat by the bedside. She did not make any sort of objection, and reading her eyes correctly I could tell she was grateful for my presence every time she glanced my way.

After a long while she seemed to sink off to sleep, only to wake herself suddenly. This was repeated several times, though it clearly took her greater effort the more time that passed. I decided to tackle the subject head on: “You do not want to go to sleep?”

“No, I have slept too long already. I am afraid.”

“Afraid? Why so? It is the boon even madmen crave.”

“Not this sleep, it is too deep and like death.” She shivered, though she was well tucked in.

I could see now why she feared it. Even if she was not aware of all that happened to her, some detached part of her realized she had almost died and was keeping it from her, just as the same was keeping her mother safe as well. “My dear girl, you may sleep tonight, and well. I am here watching you, and can promise nothing will happen.”

For a moment her gaze drifted to the window, when I followed it I saw nothing of import beyond it’s glass. Lucy made a sigh of a sound before sinking truly into sleep.

All night long I watched her. She never stirred, but slept a fully tranquil, deep, life-giving sleep. Her lips were pink and slightly parted, and her breast rose and fell as a pendulum.

Her maid disturbed us in the early morning. I made myself leave, to return home. I sent short wires to Van Helsing and Arthur, telling them all was well.

My own home, with it’s pile up of work, took me all day to get through. It was dark by the time I asked after Flyman, only to hear all was well, that he had been quiet since I’d left. Quite unusual.

While having dinner I received a telegram from Van Helsing, suggesting I should be at Hillingham tonight as well, and stating that he was leaving my the night mail and would join me in the morning tomorrow. So it is off again I go.


	73. phonograph, diary, journal; 9, Sept.

Seward’s phonograph, cont

I was tired and worn out when I got to Hillingham. The past two nights I’d hardly a wink of sleep, and my brain was beginning to feel that numbness which typified cerebral exhaustion.

Lucy was up and in cheerful spirits when I greeted her. When we shook hands she looked sharply in my face and said: “No sitting up for you, tonight. Not that you should have bothered to visit, I am quite well and you are clearly worn down to the bone.”

I made my insistance to stay, despite all that, for I was loathed to disobey Van Helsing.

She huffed. “Than if there is to be any sitting up, I shall sit up with _you_.”

Another sign of my cerebral exhaustion that I did not seek to argue against her, instead letting her lead me to supper, where she chatted about everything young women are wont to speak of, even if the listener has no care for it: fashion, her upcoming marriage, and general gossip. The food was good, and even better was the port that came after.

Then Lucy took me upstairs, showing me to a room next to her own, where a cozy fire already burned. “Now,” she said. “You must stay here, and I shall leave this door open, and my own. If you will not take the bed, then I insist on the couch. Should I need anything I will call out and you may come rushing.”

I could not but acquiesce, for I found myself tired all over, the food making me moreso, and I could not have sat up if I tried. So, on her renewing her promise to call me should she need anything, I lay on the sofa, and forgot all about everything.

* * *

Lucy’s diary, cont

 _9, S_ —Perhaps I am a wicked woman for lying to Seward, and for putting a few drops of chloral in his first glass of port, but if I am I will endure whatever suffering is given to me for I have some freedom now. Strangely the bottle is almost empty, when it should still be half full.

Mina and Piri visited today, both quite cross with Seward for turning them away yesterday, and both doing their best to seemingly take the place of my mother because of it. Mamma has only watched me carefully, a look in her eye I do not like one bit, though I am not sure what can be done to stamp it out. But their visit cheered me greatly, and they promised they would visit again soon, no matter what Seward, or anyone else, might insist. I certainly have greater faith in them than in Seward.

Piri whispered to me before she left that Helene would visit tonight, another reason for Seward to not be aware. So I will wait up for her eagerly, for I have missed her greatly these past few days.

* * *

Mina’s journal, cont

 _9, Sept_ —I was glad to see Lucy in good spirits today, for being unable to see her yesterday worried us all greatly, and how strange to see Helene so animated and angry, perhaps she cares more for Lucy than I thought, if so than it is only a mirror to Lucy’s own feelings, for which I am grateful.

Jonathan has thrown himself, quite happily, into his work, so our visiting the Dănești house has tapered off some, however Emil has taken to come to us in the evenings, and I find he is far better at making Jonathan cease thinking of work and focus on relaxing, which can only do him good. Perhaps soon Emil will teach me the trick of it, for he will not be around to do it all the time, and it is easy for Jonathan to get caught up.

Not that he thinks of anything once we adjourn to bed, although I find I am the same. It is all too easy to get caught up in our bed adventures and the giving of blood. Not that Emil ever takes much, he says it is not necessary to him, but much like sweets, a good treat every now and then.

I do not think he sleeps, but he stays with us through the night, the three of us curled up together. And he seems more than happy to remain in bed while Jonathan and I ready ourselves for the day, the process of which Emil seems to find endlessly fascinating.

I find _he_ is endlessly fascinating, not that he has told us much of his own life. He has divulged that he is now a few hundred years old—a part of me still refuses to believe it though it must be true—and that it is because of Helene that he is what he is presently, though he did not name what he might be. Though I have heard Piri claim they have been chosen by a Queen Ana to help ease her curse. Once I would have laughed at such a claim of ‘curses’ but how can I now, when in my bed I have lain with a man who drinks blood and has no heartbeat?


	74. Seward's phonograph, cont; 10, Sept

I was conscious of the Professor’s hand on my head, and started awake in a second. “And how is our patient?” He asked as I sat up.

“Well when I left her, or rather when she left me,” I answered.

He gave a nod. “Come, let us see then.” Together we went into the room.

The blind was down, and I went over to raise it, whilst Van Helsing stepped, in that quiet way he has, towards the bed.

As I raised the blind, filling the room with morning sunlight, the Professor gave that low hiss; and knowing it’s rarity a deadly fear shot through my heart. As I passed over, he moved back, and his exclamation of “Gott in Himmel!” was echoed by his agonized face. I found myself falling to my knees as I saw what he had.

There on the bed, seemingly in a swoon, lay poor Lucy. Her skin somehow was flushed and horribly white at the same time, and she seemed to tremble all over as if chilled. No longer did her breast rise as a metronome, but rapidly as in fear.

“Quick!” Van Helsing said, breaking me from my terror. “Bring the brandy.”

I all but flew to the dining room, and returned with the decanter. Van Helsing wetted her poor white lips with it, and together we stimulated palm and wrist and heart. He felt her heartbeat, and after a few moments of agonizing suspense said: “It is not too late! It beats, though but feebly. So fate starts us at the beginning again! Cruel mistress to undo our loving work. There is no young lover her now; I have to call on you yourself, friend John.” As he spoke he began to pull out the instruments for transfusion.

I took off my coat and rolled up my shirtsleeve.

There was not enough time for an opiate, not that there was need for one—for myself or for Lucy. So without a moment’s delay we began the operation.

After a time—it did not seem a short time, moreso for the feeling of one’s blood being drained away is quite painful—Van Helsing held up a warning finger. “Do not stir,” he advised me. “Only know that he strength is already returning. I fear too much though, from your brawny English blood, so I shall give hypodermic of morphia.”

I did not turn my head, but by looked side-eyed I could watch him relatively well as he did so. The effect on Lucy was not bad, for her faint seemed to merge subtly into narcotic sleep.

It was with a feeling of personal pride that I could see the flush on her cheek fade into the rest of her skin, turning it a more normal colour. No man knows, till he experiences it, what it feels like for his own life blood to be drawn away into the veins of the woman he loves. 

The Professor watched critically, checking his watch. “That will do,” he said.

“Already?” I remonstrated. “You took a great deal more from Art.” I could give more, I knew it, if it meant Lucy would be well.

Van Helsing looked at me sharply, a note of chiding in his voice as he spoke. “He is her lover, her _fiance_. While I know you’re affection as great, he only need be strong. _You_ have work, _much work_ , to do for her yet. So we shall save you some strength yet, though it heartens me to see you wish to give more.”

He attended to Lucy, while I applied pressure to my own incision, laying down to await for him to attend me. By and by he bound up my wound,a nd sent me downstairs to get a glass of wine for myself. I’d only reached the door when he stopped me again, serious look on his face. “Mind, we must speak nothing of this! If our young lover should turn up unexpected, as before, speak nothing. It would at once frighten and enjealous him. Turning him against you would make things worse. So!”

When I came back he looked me over again. “Not much the worse. Go into the room, rest on your sofa a while. Then have much breakfast, and return to me,” he proscribed.

As I once had as a student, I followed his orders; knowing them to be right and wise. I’d done my part, and now needed to keep up my strength, should I be called upon in such a way again. I found I did feel very weak, quite suddenly, and in my weakness forgot something of the amazement at what occurred. I managed to fall asleep on the sofa, wondering over and over how Lucy had made such a retrograde movement. How she could have lost so much blood, with no sign to show of it save the physical.

Lucy slept well into the day, and when she woke she was fairly well and strong, though not as much as before. Once again we turned away her callers, not wishing them to know of Lucy’s downturn. After Van Helsing saw her he went out for a walk, leaving me in charge, with strict instructions that I was not to leave her side. As I settled in, I could hear him asking for directions to the nearest telegram office.

Lucy chatted with me freely, once again seeming not to know all of what happened, to my relief. I tried to keep her amused and happy, so she might not ask after it. When her mother came up to see her, she did not seem to notice any change in her daughter, but said to me gratefully: “We owe you so much, Dr. Seward, for all that you’ve done. Though you are looking quite pale yourself! I hope you are not overworking yourself.”

Van Helsing returned some time later, and said to me: “Now go home, each much, drink enough. Regain strength. I stay here tonight, and be the one to sit up. Now you and I must watch closely this case, and we must have none other know. I have great reason for this. No do not ask what; you must let your wheat grow a little more. _Think_! Do not fear to think of even the worst, or non-probable. Good night.”

As I was leaving two maids came to me, imploring they might be the ones to sit up with Lucy. When I repeated Van Helsing’s injunction, they quite prettily begged to intercede with him. While I was much touched by their affection for their employer, I remained firm. Again women do not seem to worry they might catch and spread what ails one.

I got back here in time for late dinner, went my rounds—all well—and set this down. Now I must to bed and sleep. It is coming.


	75. Mina's journal, cont; 11, Sept

_11, Sept_ —Was able to see Lucy today, thank God. Helene, Piri, Hajni and I were let into the house, though I am certain even if we had not, Hajni would have charmed the way for all of us. As we made our way up to Lucy’s room, we passed by an elderly gentleman, who carried a doctor’s bag with him.

I hung back some, tugging Jenny over to inquire who he was.

“A Dr. Van Helsing,” she answered. “Came all the way from the Continent, been in and out with that Dr. Seward over Miss Lucy. He’s too firm, but perhaps only because he is concerned, as we all are.” She gave me a little nudge. “Should go in Mrs. Harker, Miss Lucy will be well glad to see you. Be good for her spirits.”

I took her advice, the others had already settled themselves in by the time I entered. Helene curled up on the bed with Lucy, their two shades of blonde tangling to make a waterfall of gold down the bed. Piri sat in a chair pulled to the bed, her needle flashing silver as she stitched more quickly than a normal woman might. Hajni sat in the chair next to her, explaining, quite seriously, the signs Piri was stitching into the handkerchief she was making, and how they’d keep Lucy safe from the demons causing her illness.

Even knowing no such thing existed, I said not a word to gainsay Hajni, for they were clearly doing it out of care, and it would do no harm.

Lucy brightened upon seeing me, and beckoned me over for an embrace. She seemed more frail than I recalled her being, and I worried over her health all over again. It’s clear whatever Seward and that Van Helsing are doing is only working part ways, for she was still quite chill with my embrace and flushed as with fever.

We talked not a word about it though, throughout the whole of our visit. Catching Lucy up on all that she missed instead, and making plans together, as if this were only a cold and not something we knew not of.

I wish there were magic, and demons that could be so easily scared away by symbols stitched into a handkerchief. For then Lucy would be surrounded by such magic that she would be will, and never become ill again. But I share my life now with a man who is centuries old and consumes blood, so perhaps there is such a magic.


	76. Seward's phonograph, Lucy's diary; 12, Sept.

Seward’s phonograph, cont.

Went to Hillingham this afternoon. Arrived to find Van Helsing in excellent spirits, and Lucy appearing much better. Shortly after I joined them a big parcel from abroad was delivered to the Professor. He opened it gravely, yet I could not help but think he was also showing off a little, as I recalled him doing much the same in his lessons at various points, revealing great bundles of white flowers.

“These are for you, Miss Lucy,” He said.

“For me?” She gave a pretty frown of confusion. “Whyever for?”

He gave a paternal smile, and patted her on the head. “Well they are certainly not for you to play with. They are in fact the next part of your cure.” Here Lucy frowned again, if in a bit more distaste. “They are not for you to take in a decoction, or in nauseous form, so you need not snub your nose in such a fashion. Else I shall tell your Arthur of such a mar to the beauty he loves so much. Ah, there you are, much sweeter, I think all will agree.

“This is medicinal, but it is clear you do not know how? How could you? You have not my training and experience! See, I shall put him in your window, make a pretty wreath to hang about your neck, for the good sleep. As the lotus does, it shall make you forget all trouble. Breathe it deep! The smell of the waters of Lethe and the fountain of youth all in one.”

Lucy breathed it in as Van Helsing instructed. Only to throw them down in disgust, giving a sharp little laugh. “Oh, Professor. This is clearly a joke, for this is only common garlic!” She nudged it away from herself. “‘No sugar in mine, thank you’ as Mr. Morris would say.”

To my surprise, Van Helsing rose up, his iron jaw set and his bushy eyebrows meeting as he lectured her sternly. “I never jest, nor joke! There is grim purpose in all I do, and I warn you against seeking to thwart me! Take care, for those around you, if not yourself!” Then seeing he had frightened Lucy so, he went on more gently: “Oh little miss, do not fear me so. This is all for your own good, though you do not comprehend. They are common, but much virtue is to be found in the flowers. So I shall place them around your room, and weave you the wreath I promised.

“But you must hush, yes? No telling to others, for they will ask only the same questions as you, and I bare no repeating of answers. You must obey, and silence is a part of obedience. In all this you shall make yourself a better wife when you enter the arms of the one who waits for you. Now sit awhile while we do our work.”

We went into the room, taking the flowers with us. The Professor’s actions were certainly odd, and I cannot recall even reading a description of their like in spiritual medicine. First he fastened up the windows and latched them, then taking a handful of flowers and rubbing them over the sashes. As though to make sure every bit of air would carry the scent. “This came all the way from Haarlem, you know.” He explained to me as he worked. “My friend Vanderpool raises herb in his glass houses all the year. I had to telegraph day before, or they would not have arrived here.” More handfuls of flowers were rubbed over the doorway, and round the fireplace in the same way.

It all seemed grotesque to me. “Well, Professor, I know you always have a reason for what you do, but this certainly puzzles me. It is well there is no skeptic here, or he would think you wish to ward off evil spirits!”

“Perhaps I am,” he answered quietly. His focus seemingly on the wreath he was making now for Lucy.

I frowned some at his words. But I knew all too well that the spiritual was real, mediums had proven it over and over; and how could one not believe such as the great mind of Doyle himself did? But I did not know of any such malevolent being as might drain the blood from Lucy. I did not ask however, what Van Helsing thought, for he would likely only speak of wheat again.

We then waited whilst Lucy made her toilet for the night, and when she was in bed, he came and fixed the wreath of garlic round her neck himself. “Take care you do not disturb him,” he warned sternly. “Even if the room feel close, do not open the window or door.”

“I promise,” though Lucy perhaps sounded a bit much like a petulant child being made to take castor oil. Yet she agreed, and that was enough.

As we left the house in my fly, Van Helsing said to me: “Tonight I can sleep in peace, and sleep I am in want. Two night of travel, much recollecting and reading the day between, with anxiety the day to follow, and a night to sit up, without a wink! Tomorrow in the morning early, call on me and we shall return to the pretty miss, who should be much strong for the ‘spell’ which has been worked.”

He seemed so confident that I could not help but feel so too. 

* * *

Lucy’s diary, cont.

 _12, S_ —I do not know why that professor was so insistent on garlic. The smell is so strong in the room that I feel quite faint from it, and even mamma came in to complain of the reek. So I have opened the windows, letting in the smell of rain from outside, which is all the more pleasant. I have tossed off the wreath as well, though I shall put it back on before I rest, so that it will not trouble Van Helsing.

Helene should be arriving soon, and she will make me forget all about that man with his flowers and threats.

_Later_ —I will be to bed soon, but it seems perhaps Van Helsing knows more than he lets on about my ‘condition.’ For when Helene came she took a look about my flower strewn room and laughed, before asking me to tell her all. I did, even speaking of overhearing Van Helsing claim they’d been grown special in Haarlem.

“Special? Bah, they are no more special than the garlic one grows in their garden here. Whomever he bought it from is a conman. Odysseus’ boon would ward me, or those of my line, off true, but that is only grown in secret places in Greece, and it is not likely the pitiful old man has ever deigned to visit such places,” she sneered. “You must tell your mother you do want not of him anymore, or Seward. Van Helsing has known my kind before, and would see us all dead if he had his way.”

I shook my head, saying mamma would not have it, being half enamoured of Van Helsing and Seward. Anger bloomed on her cheeks, but she still gently leaned down to kiss my own. “Your mother and I shall talk,” she answered. “And I will make it well.”

She did not leave then and there, to my relief, but stayed and talked with me. Until just a while ago when she left, telling me I needed not worry about the garlic, or putting the wreath back on. Which I am relieved by, for I do not think I could sleep with that smell surrounding me so.


	77. Seward's phonograph, cont; 13, Sept

Called at the Berkeley, finding Van Helsing, as usual, up and eager to depart. Already he had a carriage ready, and it was only the wait for my own arrival that prevented his earlier departure. He grabbed his bag, and we were off.

Let it all be as I dictate to this machine now. Van Helsing and I arrived at Hillingham at eight o’clock. When we entered we were met by Lady Westenra coming out of the morning room. She is always an early riser. She greeted us warmly, saying: “You will be glad to know Lucy is better, and is still quite asleep.”

The Professor smiled, and looked quite jubilant. Rubbing his hands together as he spoke. “Aha! As I thought, it seems I had diagnosed correct. The treatment is working.”

To which Lady Westenra, perhaps a bit too haughtily, replied. “You should not take all the credit yourself, doctor. Lucy’s state this morning, as before, is due in part to me!”

“How do you mean?” asked the Professor. If he had not asked, I certainly would have, for Lady Westenra is certainly no medical experts such as he or I.

“Well, I awoke feeling anxious about the dear child in the night, and went into her room to find her still quite awake. Still too used to her old schedule, I fear, though once she is married and hosting parties of her own it will serve her well, I’m sure. I made her up some tea, knowing what I put in it would help her sleep.

“I watched over her as she fell back asleep, and the longer I sat with her the more I realized how stuffy and awful it smelled. I went to open the windows, and realized the scent came from those flowers, as if it were some dreadful May Day prank! I woke Jenny up right quick, and she confessed it was you who put the flowers up! You!” I found myself moving to soothe Lady Westenra, for too much eagerness would certainly do her more harm than good. Sadly she seemed ignorant of my help. “My dear Lucy is too sweet and fragile a lady for such awful things, doctor.

“We opened the windows and gathered up every last flower, tossing them all away, and good riddance. I dare say even if Lucy had not had the tea, she would have slept much better by virtue of sweet air alone. Should you continue such ghastly things, I shall certainly remove her from your care and seek help elsewhere!” Done with her tirade she moved off into her boudoir.

After I’d unsuccessfully tried to calm her, I found myself watching the Professor’s face, seeing him turn ashen grey. He’d managed to keep the rest of his reaction at bay while the poor lady was present, but now that she was gone he dragged me into the dining room, nearly slamming the door behind us.

Then, for the first time in my life, I saw Van Helsing break down.

He raised his hands over his head in mute despair, then buried his face in those hands in a helpless way. Finally he moved to sit, only just finding a chair, the great heaving sobs he let loose nearly tumbling him out of it anyways.

He raised his face upwards as he had his hands, revealing the tears he wept. “God! God! God!” He spoke to the heavens we could not see. “What have we done? What has this poor girl done? That we be beset by such evils? Is it fate, from the pagan world of old, who is against us? Such a poor woman, thinking she help when she make it all the worse! And she cannot be told otherwise, else she die, then the poor maid will die with her! Oh why beset us so? How are all the powers of the devil and pagan against us!” He jumped to his feet quickly, making me start at the unexpected action.

“”Come!” He nearly shouted. “Come! We must see and act! Devils or no Devils, or pagan fate, it matters not. We will fight it all the same.” Leading the charge we went to Lucy’s room.

I drew up the blind, while Van Helsing went to the bed. This time he did not start as he looked on the poor sleeping face of Lucy, whom he checked over diligently.

“As I expected,” he murmured. Without a word he went and locked the door, then, as if it were now habit, set out the table of instruments for yet another operation of transfusion of blood. “We must again! She needs it,” he sounded quite fierce. “It shall make her well as before. No, friend John, today you shall operate, as you are still weak. I shall provide today. At least I am good German stock, _da_?” It seems even when you are not the one to die, gallows humor might still make itself known.

Again the operation, and the narcotic. Again color returned in her body, though her rapid breathing did not ease. I kept watch over her while Van Helsing recovered.

Perhaps it is a good sign that he did so quickly, and with as much vigor as always. Vigor which he applied to Lady Westenra, lecturing her that she was not to remove anything from Lucy’s room, no matter how seemingly dreadful. For it was part of Lucy’s cure, and didn’t she want her daughter well? He then took over for me, saying he would watch in the night, but he needed to return to Amsterdam in the morning to make more arrangements.

What does it all mean? While I know why Van Helsing does not explain all, I still find myself growing frustrated with his silence. When he returns I shall press him for answers again. Hopefully I shall get them.


	78. phonograph, telegram, diary; 14, Sept.

Seward’s phonograph, cont

I was engaged after dinner in my study, working on my papers and correspondence; which through other work and many visits to poor Lucy, had fallen sadly into arrear. When my door burst open, and in rushed my Flyman, his face distorted with passion.

I was thunderstruck, for a patient getting into my study had been unheard of. Without an instant’s pause he made straight at me, brandishing a dinner knife.

I tried to keep my desk between us, yet utterly failed at getting my gun _and_ keeping him away from me. Nevermind that he was clearly in his religious mania again, which clearly gave him extra speed and strength. So while I reached for my gun he rushed around, cutting at my right arm, making a severe wound.

Before he could do it again, instinct had me getting in my left, sending him sprawling to the floor. My wrist bled freely, pooling on the wooden floor. Yet I did not move to bind it just yet, not until I was certain Flyman would not attack again. Once I was certain he was not intent on further attacked I doctored myself and drew my gun, keeping it on him while I waited for the keepers to arrive.

My attention moved to them when they burst in, apologetic almost gallingly so.

Not that I had much time to think upon their behavior, for a slurping sound came from behind, and I turned to see a far more abhorrent behavior!

Flyman was laying on his belly, face all but buried in the pool of blood, desperately licking it up as a overheated dog drinks water. Despite his furor, he was easily secured. Going with the keepers quite placidly, to my surprise. Only saying, over and over again: “The blood is the life! We must drink deep if we wish to survive!”

* * *

Telegram, Van Helsing, Brussels, to Seward, Carfax

_(sent to Carfax, Sussex, as no county given; delivered late by fifteen hours)_

DO NOT FAIL TO BE AT HILLINGHAM TONIGHT. DO NOT FAIL AS CANNOT SEND FLOWERS. SHALL BE WITH YOU AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

* * *

Lucy’s diary, cont

14, S—can hardly move, even write hard. Woke finding Helene, looking dreadful. She said sorry, and that she would make well. Weak returns, sle ( _Diary entry cuts off here)_


	79. phonograph, memory; 15, Sept.

Seward’s phonograph, cont.

Only making a brief note before I rush to meet train to London. Perhaps it is proof enough that I am overworked, that Van Helsing’s telegraph sent my mind into dismay. A whole night lost, and after these past few weeks I’ve come to know all too well what might occur over the course of a night. All is likely well, but that does not stop my mind from imagining all is not well.

I will take this cylinder with me, and finish this entry on Lucy’s phonograph.

Later— “So tell us then, what happened?”

I...I…

Upon reaching Hillingham, I knocked softly on the door, and used the bellpull as gently as possible. For it was quite early still, and I did not wish to disturb Lucy or her mother, only catch the attention of a servant.

Only there was no response, so I rang and knocked again, only to go unanswered again. So I cursed the laziness of servants as I began to grow more impatient with my knocking and ringing. For it might have been early, but only for ladies and gentlemen, servants should not know the meaning of the word ‘early,’ save where there masters are concerned. And still, there was no response.

Now my thoughts turned bleaker, for I was making a right racket, as not even the dead could sleep through it, and had not gotten even a murmur. Was this silence another length of rope drawing tight around us as a python might? Had I come too late, and so turned this house from one of light and life to death?

If things had taken a turn for the worse, I knew even a second’s delay could spell hours of danger for Lucy in her condition. So I rushed round the house to try and find another way in. But the house was, rightly, locked tight, and I returned, baffled, to the front door.

Only to hear the sounds of hoofbeats soon after. Halfway up the avenue, I nearly ran into Van Helsing. “How is she? Are we too late? Did you not get my telegram?”

I answered as quickly as I could as we returned to the door, that I had only received it this morning due to misaddress, but had not lost a minute in coming here. That no one had heard my summons, not even Lady Westenra.

He paused to remove his hat, holding it to his chest solemnly. “I fear we are too late. God forbid it so. Come.” He raised his bag. “If there be no way in, we shall make one.”

I should hope no neighbor espied us going round the back, though easy enough to explain to any constable should we be discovered. Finding a good sized kitchen window, Van Helsing handed me a bone saw, which I used to cut through the iron bars keeping out criminals. Once that was accomplished he handed me a long, thin knife, with which I pushed back the fastenings of the sashes, allowing me to open the window. I helped the Professor in, before following.

The kitchen was empty, as were the servant's rooms.

As we went deeper into the house, we checked every room. In the dining room, through the dim light worming its way through the shutters, found all six of the live-in servants lying on the floor. There was only the briefest second we thought them dead, but reality soon set in: they breathed the heavy breathing of deep sleep, and the scent of laudanum hung in the air. Van Helsing and I looked at each other. “We can attend them later,” he said.

That mystery solved, we headed upstairs to Lucy’s room.

How shall I describe what we saw?

It was as if a hurricane had set itself upon Lucy’s room, all was chaos. Dresses torn and flung about, her vanity upset and the jewelry box dismantled. And at the peaceful eye, was Lucy in her bed, deathly pale and beautiful, her hands resting atop each other on her belly, her golden hair spread out behind her.

Making our way through the detritus we reached the bed.

Without a word, Van Helsing bent over, until his ear almost touched her breast. Only to stumble back, grief carving his face into that of a man twice his age. “Oh! Oh! Oh! _Mien Gott_ , how be you so cruel? We have fought so long and hard for this poor girl, yet wicked death snatched her from our caring grasp even so.”

I was perhaps too shocked for grief at the moment, thought I did find myself stumbling back. Cursing myself for not staying when I should have, for all might have gone differently had I been there.

The room felt oppressive and empty, and I stumbled out, gasping for breath in the hall. Staring down the long expanse, I saw another body halfway down the length. Almost dragging my feet I went to it, finding Lady Westenra sprawled on the carpet, her expression one of horror and fear, and clearly as dead as her daughter.

I felt as if I was in a haze, only becoming aware again once a pounding reached my ears. I thought it first my own heart, but after a few long seconds I realized it was the door. I went down, finding myself not at all curious as to who it might be. I had to blink a few times against the glaring sunlight, so I only heard a seemingly angry crush of voices, until my eyes could finally make out a few men, whom I later discovered were the gardener and his crew, and Quincy Morris. I managed to ask what brought him here.

“Art sent a telegram,” he answered as he came in. “Said he hadn’t heard from you in days and wanted me to check up, ‘specially with his own pa just died. He told me about Lucy, and Jack, you ain’t looking too well yourself. What’s happened?”

It took me a few tries, but I told him.

Grief came upon him in that very American way, yet even as he cried his voice was quiet clear when he spoke. “Well then, Lucy, you’re in a better place than all of us now. Jack, you should know the gardener saw your cut window, sent one of his men to the police, fearing a break in.”

All I could do was nod. I went back upstairs to tell Van Helsing, I found him kneeling by Lucy’s bedside, praying, he had also managed to place a crucifix around Lucy’s neck.

That is everything, for only a few minutes later you arrived.

“And you saw no signs of a break in when you checked around the house when you first arrived?”

No.

“Then thank you, Dr. Seward, that’s all I need from you at the moment. Here’s my card, should you think of anything else.”

Detective Barrington, I hope you find whomever did this.

“I hope so too, Doctor.”

* * *

A Memory

“They have killed her!” Helene shrieked with more righteous fury than she could possibly contain. “With their _science_ and their supposed superiority they have murdered her, and when I am done they will not even be food fit for the pigs! That Van Helsing has stolen from me once before and I will not allow it to happen again!”

“You have killed her yourself,” my brother bellowed back, in Romanian. “She would still be alive if you had let her be.”

I was grateful Hajni wasn’t here, she disliked seeing them argue. I sat by the fire quietly, seemingly more interested in my needlework, though it likely fooled no one. Except perhaps the servants, but they’d also fled the moment Helene began her tirade in Greek; for which I was grateful. I was, however, also grateful they had not seen fit to drag me into their fight, for I was not sure who I would side with.

“Do _not_ lecture me on how to be, _Emil_ , you loveless man,” derision slipped from Helene’s lips like venom. “And do not lay their crimes at my feet. She wasted away the more they ‘helped’ her. They should be killed for thinking their blood is equal to hers, alone!” She made a hissing shriek, which I now associate with the tea kettles that seem endemic to British houses, and a few seconds later the door slammed shut as she stormed out.

My brother snarled back, but it quickly faded. And it was no surprise that a moment later he was at my feet, face buried in my lap. “I do not know how you and Hajni stand her so, Piri. I half-wish I could kill her most days.”

“Only you make her so, brother. You are both too alike.” They always encountered each other like the hammer to hot steel, and woebetied any who got between. My needle flashed as I worked, the brown Thames wending its way through white linen. “Lucy will rise, and Helene will be mollified.”

“Do not remind me,” he sighed. “If Helene does not teach her discretion, then we shall have more problems on our hands. Though at least they likely believe it a crime, and not something as us.” Not that it was much relief, for Helene had clearly encountered Van Helsing before, and he suspected much, if knew little.

I hummed in agreement. “Will you stop Helene when she moves against _them_?” If Van Helsing knew enough then he would likely keep vigil even though Lucy had ‘passed,’ though from what I could discern, Seward's belief could easily be turned to disdain if we took the right action. Now though they were problems we didn’t need with how delicate our plotting was. Even so, Helene would not let her desire for revenge go cool, not when it was clear she’d wished Lucy to live longer. Finishing the river I knotted off the thread and bit it off, putting all aside as I stared down at my brother, fingers stroking his hair.

“No,” he finally answered. “Though I can hope they make no notice at all, it is not as if they are the great minds they think they are, from what I have heard. If they do come to hunt, Helene will deal with them as likely befits her patron.”

“And what of your Harkers? How fare they?” I pursed my lips, hoping he took the distraction. Even Hajni dealt with bloodshed better than I did.

The last of his anger melted from his shoulders, and I could feel his smile against the folds of my dress. “They are well, though I fear they will not take Lucy’s passing well, even after they know it will not last. I will likely stay with them until the funeral, so you shall be in charge. Though there is only the meeting with Saint Armand tomorrow that is of any real importance.”

I did not claim to understand love—or at least this sort of love—but I knew Helene was so very wrong every time she claimed Emil didn’t love. How could you not see how he changed whenever he even _spoke_ of the Harkers? It brought to mind hazy memories of another living woman. It was no surprise Helene didn’t recognize Emil’s love, she’d come into his life almost a decade after Judith’s death. At a time when Emil had not wished love, only perhaps physical intimacy and fleeting companionship.

“We should make ready to move to the Carfax house,” I said. “It will be easy to watch Lucy there as well.” The London season was dying down, after all, we would only need to make the occasional trip into the city for our plans, though Emil would likely visit more for the Harkers.

He gave a nod. “Make arrangements.”

There was a knock on the door, in the space it took to blink, Emil was seated in the chair next to me. “Enter.”

A maid came in, and gave a brief curtsy. “There’s a Mr. Morris to see you, your Highness.”

“Show him in, and have Cook make up coffee for him.”

The maid nodded and left.

Hajni appeared at the door at almost the same time Mr. Morris did. Her eyes glittering as she greeted him.

Emil and I shared a fond look, before Emil cleared his throat. “You are here about Miss Westenra I gather, Mr. Morris?”

“Yes sir, I am.”


	80. Seward's phonograph, cont; 17, Sept

With Sir Morton down from Whitby, and Lucy and her mother’s bodies released to him from the police, the funeral date is set for tomorrow. I am told they think it was a robbery gone wrong, and I have no reason to disbelieve this claim.

Arriving at Hillingham late today I encountered the undertaker and his staff, who all seemed to me ratter obsequious, even with the brief time I spoke with them. The woman who performed the last offices for the dead remarking to me that it was: “Quite a privilege to attend on her, never have we seen so beautiful a corpse, sir. A good credit to our establishment.”

Perhaps if I were more myself I would have been offended at those words, as it was I found myself more concerned with Van Helsing, who stared into the appointed death-chamber, as if he might summon the spirit of Lucy herself. Peering in myself I saw Mrs. Harker and three other women—one of which was Helene, the other two I recognized but did not know the name of—clustered in mourning. They looked so grief stricken I half expected them to begin a prothesis, but they kept their mourning properly quiet.

The undertaker had done his work well, the room turned into a small _chapelle ardente_. A sea of white flowers surrounded the biers themselves, as if to try and make death less of an offense than it was in this regard.

“Come, friend John, I would speak to Sir Morton over what might be done.”

I followed, even if I did not understand what the Professor might be about. We found Sir Morton in a makeshift office, the work of carrying out Lady Westenra’s will clearly taxing on the poor man.

Van Helsing and he exchanged pleasantries and condolences, before Van Helsing cut to the heart of the matter. “You know I am the doctor who cared for Miss Lucy before her death, yes? Good. What you do not know is I am lawyer as well.” Sir Morton looked as if he wished to speak, but Van Helsing cut him off. “I am not saying this to offer my help, though I will give it should you wish. I say this because I know you are the holder of everything now, and by your leave I would much like to look through Miss Lucy’s personal papers. To try and discover more about her strange sickness as her doctor, I ask so there is not confusion under your law, yes?” 

Sir Morton looked surprised by this. “Yes,” he eventually answered. “I give you leave to do with them as you wish, I have no use for them. And if they be some use to science then it should bring a little peace to me perhaps. I believe the maids have organized her room again, and collected it all on the desk.”

Van Helsing thanked him, and we departed. “You need not enter,” he told me when we reached Lucy’s room. “It should not take me long to gather them.”

I nodded, remaining in the hallway as he entered, exiting only a minute later. “Have you got what you wanted?”

“I do not know what I want, quite yet. But I have taken the papers, yes. Some letters, notes, and a journal in a shorthand I do not yet know. For now we shall let them be, though I do wish to speak with Mrs. Harker downstairs, you said they were the closest of friends, yes?”

I nodded, having already recounted my experience with her and Lucy in Whitby at his prompting.

“Then we shall pay our respects and speak with her. Then we must to bed, we are wanting of sleep, and we have much to do tomorrow.”

So he led the way for us to look at poor Lucy.

The end of the winding sheet covered Lucy’s face; and when the Professor reached to turn it back we saw the truth of the undertaker’s woman’s earlier words. The tall wax candles providing ample light to note it well. For all of Lucy’s loveliness had come back to her in death, as if despite all the hours that had passed where decay’s fingers might have taken root, had instead restored the beauty of life. So that I could not believe I was looking at a corpse.

The professor’s own expression was sternly grave. I could not hold it against him, for he had not loved her as I had and there was no need for tears in his eyes. His gaze turned towards the women, then he said to me: “stay until I return.” He soon came back with a handful of wild garlic, likely left over from Lucy’s treatments. These he placed amongst the other flowers, and upon Lucy’s breast as well. Then he took from around his own neck a golden crucifix, which he placed over the mouth before returning the sheet.

I felt a prickle at the back of my neck, and turning I saw Helene watching us, her perfect blue eyes stormy with grief.

Van Helsing approached them all respectfully, giving a little bow. “Madame Harker?”

“Yes, sir?” Her voice was hoarse, but still strong. “You have the better of me, I think.”

He introduced himself, and Mrs. Harker completed the introductions: the Ladies Piroska and Hajnalka Danesti—relations, I’m sure of the same ‘prince’ who has bought Carfax and keeps vagrants—and Lady Helene Sparta, their cousin.

“I wish not to trouble you so in your grief, but I hoped you might help me solve a mystery. For Sir Morton has given me leave of Miss Lucy’s papers, and I do not know the shorthand with which this is written.” He produced the small journal and handed it over.

Mrs. Harker only looked at it for a long moment, before opening it, her finger tracing the lines of writing as she moved through the pages. “It begins as the shorthand we were taught at school, Professor, but then it becomes one I do not know. If you leave this with me, I can translate what I do know for you.”

He gave a wan smile. “I shall, yes, though I dislike disturbing you in your grief so. It will be of the greatest of help to me. I shall call on you in a few days time?”

She gave a little nod and soon after the Professor and I departed. As we walked to the door, we passed a maid, who though appeared terrified, still entered the death-chamber. Her love for her mistress clearly overcoming her fear of death.

In the carriage ride back to Van Helsing’s hotel he looked even graver than before. “Tomorrow, when we go to the funeral, I want you to bring with you a set of post-mortem knives.”

“What?” I stared at him in shock. “The coroner has already done his work, and you would wish us to perform a second autopsy?”

“Yes, and no. I want to operate, but not as you think. I shall tell you now, but not a word to another. I want to cut off her head and take out her heart! Ah, you trained so in surgery and yet so horrified! You who I have seen do operations that would make other men of medicine balk, with nary a trembling hand.

“Ah, but I just recall that you loved her, so you do not wish to see what you think is desecration. It is this recollection that moves me to do this, Friend John, and I shall do it while you shall only help. If I could I would perform this tonight, but we must not, for Arthur’s sake tomorrow. For he shall wish to see her, _it_. Then after the funeral when she is coffined but not yet buried, we shall do this, and seal up the coffin so that none will know but us.”

“But why do it at all?” I cried out. “Lucy is dead! Why mutilate her poor body without need? It is monstrous!”

He reached across the carriage and put his hand on my shoulder, his voice infinitely tender. “Friend John, you have such a heart, but while I love it for how it bleeds so, here it will not sway me. If I could take this from you, I would. I know there are things I have not yet told you, but that you shall know soon enough; and you shall thank me for knowing them, though they are of the darkest matters.

“John, my child, we have known each other for many years now, nigh a decade, yes? Do you know me to do anything without good cause? I have made mistakes, am but mortal, but I would still stand by my work. Thus is why you came when this great trouble began, yes? So I have good reason for this horror. Believe me yet a little longer, and when the danger is past I shall speak of what I know. There are strange and terrible days ahead of us, John, so let us act not as two, but one towards the good end.”

I put my hand over his own, and promised I would trust him, though I do still tremble at the thought of doing such a thing to Lucy’s corpse. The carriage came to a stop, and he descended. My own thoughts even now are still in turmoil. I shall not sleep except for under the touch of chloral, I fear.


	81. Seward's phonograph, Mina's journal; 18, Sept

Seward’s phonograph, cont.

It is all over.

Arthur has already gone back to Ring. The poor fellow looked almost hollowed out at Lucy’s funeral; so much grief that even his stalwart manhood could not withstand it. We let him look upon Lucy first and he seemed even more shaken after doing so. “Jack,” he said, voice sounding almost womanly. “Is she really dead?”

I assured him that she was, as harsh as it seemed to do so, only said that she looked so because death faces clung to their youthful beauty, especially when they were preceded by acute or lingering suffering. Even as I explained this to him, I kept an eye on the Professor, who had bent over Lucy’s body, only to stiffen before putting the shroud back.

Thankfully Mrs. Harker, who’s womanly sensibilities are better suited to comforting, drew Art away from me, allowing me to see what might be the matter.

Van Helsing looked grave as I asked. “The crucifix is gone, stolen most likely.” His expression turned thunderous for a moment. “So we shall not need those tools tonight.” I am not sure even now if I am grateful for that fact or not. “We shall have to act upon my return.”

I could not answer, for we were all being called away to the ride over to the churchyard where Lucy and her mother were to be interred.

During the ride over I could tell Van Helsing was beginning to buckle under some strain, this pact week has been perhaps harder on him than even upon myself, and even his iron will bends under the right pressure. All during the burial he clearly seemed to be holding himself under some great restraint. And afterwards when we stood next to Arthur again, and he spoke of how he felt he’d already been married to Lucy in spirit, due to the blood transfusion, Van Helsing’s face grew from purple to white. He nor I said nothing about the other transfusions, and we never would, for Arthur’s sake.

Quincy went away with Arthur to the station, and to Ring most likely. What a fellow! I believe he suffers as much as any of us, but he bore through it all like some moral Viking, not at all what one might expect from his Spanish blood. It must be the American in him, and if America can go on breeding men like that, then she will be a power in the world indeed. 

My thoughts on Van Helsing proved correct, for the moment we were alone in the carriage he gave way to a fit of hysterics. Though he has denied it was hysterics, only his sense of humor asserting itself under such terrible conditions.

Yet what else should I call it when someone laughs till he cries, only to cry until they laugh? Then both as a woman does in the height of hysterics? I tried to be stern with him, as I would a woman in such a condition, but it had no effect on him.

Finally though his face grew grave and stern again. So I dared to ask why his mirth, at such a time.

His reply was the quintessence of him, for it was logical, forceful, and mysterious: “Ah, friend John, do not think I am not sad, though I laugh. For you saw that I cried even when the laugh did choke me. Keep it with you that laughter who knock at your door is not always true mirth. No!

“Behold, for I grieve my heart out for that so sweet young girl. I give my blood, though I be old and worn. I give my time, skill, sleep; let others suffer so she would have my all. Yet it does no good! And my heart bleed for that poor boy—that dear boy, who would be an age of my own son, had he lived to today, and be as steadfast and kind together. There! Now you see why my heart bleeds, that I be so reminded of what was stolen from me long ago now.

“Bleeding hearts, and drying bones in churchyards, and laughter comes in spite of it all, to break loose the strain, so that we might continue on.”

I did not like to wound him, by pretending not to see his idea, but I feared to ask more after his laughter. So we were silent the rest of the ride over.

Van Helsing is lying down now, a rest to prepare him for his trip back to Amsterdam to-night. But he says he shall return tomorrow night, that he only needs to make a few arrangements in person. He is to stay here at the asylum with me afterwards, if he can; though he says he also has some business in London which he must attend to.

So now we will all scatter like the autumn leaves that fill the September air now. Loneliness dripping from our eaves like rain as we keep to our houses. While Lucy lies in her coffin, in the tomb of her father’s kin, a lordly death-house in a lonely churchyard. Away from teeming London, where the air is fresher and wild flowers grow of their own accord.

I believe this shall be the end of this diary of mine. I shall go back and rescribe all my notes over Flyman, and keep new one still. But anything else shall remain in my mind. God knows I shall ever speak again as I do now.

FINIS

* * *

Mina’s journal, cont.

_ 18, Sept _ —Helene has promised, to old gods and new, that Lucy will return to us, perhaps even tonight. Though I can scarcely fathom it in my heart, even as my mind says it must be possible with all I know now.

So I have given over Lucy’s journal to Helene, that it might be returned to her and be of some comfort. Though I perhaps have been a poor friend for reading it before passing it on. Yet I must have an idea of what it  _ does _ say, so that I might give the strange professor who’d given it to me a decent facsimile. I know he is the one who was helping Dr. Seward treat Lucy, though why he has an interest in her diary I do not know.

Yet it is clear I will have to remake whole portions, for I do not think it would do for him to know the truth of Helene, or the  Dănești. And perhaps I should do the same for my own journal, and Jonathan’s, should they be asked after as well.

This is not the work I had expected for myself, but I am up to the task. At least I know there shall be help for the asking, should I want it.


	82. newspaper cuttings, telegrams, Lucy's diary cont, Harker's journal cont; 20, Sept.

Cutting from the “Westminster Gazette”

A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY

The neighborhood of Hampstead is, at present, experiencing a series of events which seem to run on lines parallel to those of what was known to the writers of headlines the likes of “The Kensington Horror,” or “The Thames Torso Mystery.”

During the past two days several cases have occurred of young children straying from home, or neglecting to return from their playing on the Heath. In all these cases the children are too young to give a good accounting of themselves, but they have all given similar consensus when asked why they had not returned: A “beuful lady” has asked them to walk with her through the Heath. It has always been late in the evening when the child has been missed, and on one occasion the child has not been found until early the following morning.

It is generally supposed in the neighborhood that, as the first child gave his reason for being away as a “Beuful lady,” the others have picked it up in the way children pick up any other thing. Using it as the occasion calls for it. Thus it seems to have quickly become the favorite game of the little ones, a child is designated the “beuful lady” and tries to lure the others to him by wiles, which they all seem to find supremely funny.

A correspondent suggests that our caricaturists might take a lesson in the irony of grotesque, by comparing the reality and the picture. Naively saying that even Ellen Terry could not be so winningly attractive as some of these children pretend—and even imagine—themselves to be.

There is, however, a serious side to the question. For some of the children, including the one who had been missed at night, have been found slightly wounded at the throat. Such as might be made by a small dog, or perhaps brambles, and although not of much import individually, all together suggests there is more to these disappearances than just children shirking their responsibilities.

The police of the division have been instructed to keep a sharp look out for straying children, especially when very young, in and around Hampstead Heath.

* * *

Telegram, Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker

_20, Sept. 1 PM_

HAVE RETURNED TO LONDON, WOULD LIKE TO MEET AT YOUR EARLIEST CONVENIENCE.

Yrs. Van Helsing

* * *

Telegram, Mrs. Harker to Van Helsing

_20, Sept. 3 PM_

Come day after tomorrow, the address is 134 — St. Late afternoon is best.

Wilhelmina Harker

* * *

Cutting from “The Westminster Gazette” Extra Special

THE HAMPSTEAD HORROR

(another child injured by “beuful lady”)

We have just received intelligence that another child, missed last night, was only discovered late this morning under a furze bush, at the Shooter’s Hill side of the Heath. It has the same tiny wounds in the throat, as noted in the other cases. It was terrible weak and looked quite pale. It too, when partly restored, had the story of being lured away by the “beuful lady.”

* * *

Lucy’s Diary, cont.

 _20, S_ —I am not sure what to make of the past few days, for I recall nothing of them.

I woke late in the afternoon in Helene’s bed, turning my head I found her laying next to me watching. She smiled at me and welcomed me back. I asked her what had happened to me, and her expression turned grave. “You died, sunbeam, those gruesome men and their meddling have done you in. Now you are as I am.” She reached out and brushed her fingers down my cheek, for the first time they did not feel cool. “You will live with us now, for as long as you please. We need hide nothing, and if you wish it I will lay the world at your feet.”

She then gave me this journal, and told me we would go out in a bit, so that I might eat. 

It has been almost six days since my last entry, and all I have is a vague recollection of hunger, though on what day that might have occurred I do not know. Perhaps it is for the best I do not know, to recall my own death seems far too awful a thing to continence.

_Later_ —Hajni accompanied Helene and I, though she did not...partake as we hunted.

I had known, logically, that since Helene would drink my blood, and I was now like she, that I too would have to consume such a substance. Yet to consciously do it is...unpleasant. Helene said I would lose this in time, though Hajni, and Piri, later confided that they had never truly grown used to it. But added they had been raised in cultures where blood was considered unclean, so my own experiences might be different. I was also told I would need to drink daily for the next century or so.

Century...I still cannot fathom it in a way, that I shall live that long and never change on the outside. I shall outlive Mina, Kate, even Arthur. Oh Arthur, I am sorry, dearly and truly; and I hope you will find happiness again with someone else.

* * *

Jonathan Harker’s journal, cont.

 _20, Sept_ —I do perhaps feel a little guilt that the burden of changing the past has fallen solely to Mina, but she is also a far more creative person than myself, better suited to such things. 

Emil has helped however, practically living with us the past few days, which has felt both strange, and altogether too pleasant. I am glad she has the help, though I wish I could do more than read through the pages they have produced and give them a ‘yea’ or ‘nay.’

Though it is disconcerting to read back what will stand in for my own journal entries, how they read as if I myself did write them. So much so that I almost believe I _did_ write them, though I have this as proof that I did not. Helene, Piri, and Hajni have all but disappeared in this retelling, which Emil says is for the best; better anyone who sees this think there is only one mastermind, one who has plotted all. All the better for the rest of this kind to remain undetected and undisturbed.

I do not like it, yet as I cannot think of a better way, I must abide.


	83. Recollection

Gettin’ a telegram from Jack, asking if I’d come to Purfleet for a dinner, wasn’t too surprising. I thought, perhaps, he might want to reminisce about Miss Lucy. It was a damn strange thing, to know she was still hale and hearty, if not as alive as before. Hadn’t at the time had the chance to see her again with my own eyes, specially since the Prince had taken his family out of London the same day as Jack’s invitation, but I reasoned I’d be able to kill two birds with one stone with this trip out there.

The train was quite nice, though sometimes the shortness of train rides in England still catches me off guard. Too used to spending hours or days on the things, even though it’d been a right age, even then, since I’d been in America. Jack didn’t meet me at the station, but I found my way to his asylum easy enough. The secretary at the desk was nice enough to let me wait in Jack’s office, telling me he was attending to the patients at the moment.

It was all a right racket, and even knowing now Jack’s house was detached from the facility, I couldn’t imagine a man getting anything resembling a good nights sleep if the patients kept up the noise all hours of the day and night.

Jack came in about an hour later, giving a wan smile as he saw me sitting at his desk. We had a brief conversation of our times apart, me with helping out Art who was still quite in the doldrums, and Jack who’d thrown himself back into helping his patients. Then Jack got into the meat of the matter.

“While I wish our dinner was a friendly one, I was hoping to get your help with some other guests I’ve invited. The man of the house, that being the Carfax manor next door, claims to be a prince of some sort. Though I know of no prince who’d consort with the vagrants he seems to employ. And the ladies of the house are the same ones who Lucy called ‘friends,’ especially that lady Helene. Yet if they consort with vagrants I fear they might have had an ulterior motive, and in fact might be responsible for Lucy’s death and the robbery that occurred.

“You’re a good fellow, Quincey, and I know people like talking to you, and find your stories entertaining. So while you and I entertain these Dănești—excepting of course he’d pronounced it wrong—my man Hennessey is going to avail himself to the manor, in the hopes of finding something to prove their guilt.”

It was clear the grief had gotten to him, yet I wasn’t about to leave Dănești high and dry, though he and the ladies can well take care of themselves. I was afeared for Miss Lucy as well, for it was likely she was not coming to the dinner, for the obvious reasons, and this Hennessey might stumble across her in his search. Let alone that such a thing likely wasn’t the most legal of operations.

So I agreed, knowing it was likely I could catch a moment alone with Dănești to tell him what was up. Or perhaps Miss Hajnalka would seek to speak with me, at the time I only had the barest of inklings she might fancy me, so I only saw it as her being friendly. I thought at the time she was sweet enough, perhaps I was still a little hung on Lucy so that I didn’t quite see any other lady sighing after me. Especially not white ones.

We retired to his house, where the sounds of the asylum were more reduced than I thought they could be. His cook was already hard at work, from the smell of it, and there was another gaff I had to think about for a long moment. But then reasoned the Dănești wouldn’t accept an invitation to a dinner, if they did not already have a plan in place for dealing with such things. Which is generally far more plotting than I’m accustomed to doing myself.

So truly the only thing I could hope to give them was a warning about Jack’s man, and hope for the best.

They certainly appeared all pleasing as one could want when they arrived at Seward’s door. And while Dănești himself was thanking Jack for the invitation and hospitality, I did manage to sidle myself up to Lady Piroska’s side and tell her about Jack’s plan.

She gave a nod, and thanked me quietly, truly she’s as levelheaded as that brother of hers can be if she takes such bleak news calmly. I didn’t have much time to do much more than that for anyone, as we adjourned to dinner.

Which was a curious affair, clearly the Dănești _had_ done something, for the maid who helped bring out dinner didn’t serve them, and neither did Jack comment upon it. Seeming to accept the Dănești’s claims that it was delicious, and that he laid a good table.

The time passed in pleasing conversation—for the most part, for Lady Helene barely said anything, only seemed to stare at Jack—and as I’d promised Jack, I did regale them with tales of my various adventures. Mainly as a gaucho with my father’s kin down in Uruguay, and the great Pampas. Perhaps quite humorously in hindsight, I even told them of my encounter with a vampire bat one night, how I found it lapping away at the little wound it’d made on my mare’s neck when I came back with some hares for my own supper.

Lady Hajnalka seemed to find it most fascinating, and asked endless questions, including if my mare survived; it was sweet she was relieved to know the horse had. I think she would have kept asking questions, if Jack hadn’t elbowed his way into the conversation to change the subject.

Since we didn’t have the numbers, when dinner ended we all went up to Jack’s library for drinks. I excused myself for a moment to do necessary things, and when I returned I found Lady Helene deep in conversation with Jack. When I tried to step towards them, Dănești stopped me. “Let her have her justice,” he told me quietly. “She will likely try to harm you as well if you interfere.”

Even knowing what I do now, I rightly don’t know if I would’ve interjected myself. Jack was my friend, and I don’t think I’d wish his fate on most, but it’s a strange thing to know that without his meddling Miss Lucy would’ve lived a nice, long life.


	84. Mina's journal, letter; 22, Sept.

Mina’s Journal, cont.

 _22, Sept_ —I feel a strange sort of excitement as the time draws near for Dr. Van Helsing’s visit. While Emil and I, and even Jonathan, have worked together on this ‘past,’ I will be the sole presenter. So it is a test, for I have certainly never tried to lie so boldly, not since I was a child at the least. I got away with it then, but Van Helsing is a supposedly greater mind than the orphanage staff who raised me.

So I shall give him the earlier portions of Lucy’s diary, admitting I could not crack the shorthand she used later on—which is partly the truth—which only gives him a month of entries. And I have my own journal at hand should he ask for it after reading Lucy’s. Jonathan’s shall wait however, for I recall from my youth that when lying one does not offer every bit of the lie at once. 

Ah, it is almost two o’clock and the doctor will be here soon. I should put the kettle on so we shall at least have tea to get us through this tête-à-tête of ours.

_Later_ —He has come and gone. It was a strange meeting, where I clearly felt that two conversations were being had, and the doctor only knew of one. Despite him seeming such a learned and studious man.

He came at a quarter past two, just as I was finishing the tea. I shall write this all down verbatim, so that my memory might remain clear.

I met him at the door, he is a strong looking man, the sort one would think of as a farmer or dockhand, and not a doctor. But the body does not dictate the mind, so one might look like an ox, yet have the mind of a philosopher. He gave a grave nod as I let him inside. “I hope you well, Mrs. Harker.”

“Well enough,” I answered. “But grief comes and goes at odd hours, as it is wont.” Which was true enough, I only had the barest chance to see Lucy the morning of the Dănești leaving for Carfax. And while she is the same Lucy I remember, she is also so very different. So in a way I still mourn the death of my best friend.

“Aye,” he agreed. “You wear it well. And I hope you have managed to get the diary of hers intelligible.”

Rising I grabbed the slim sheaf of papers from my workbasket. “Only the first month,” so began my lies. “The rest is too her own, so she has taken it’s key with her into the tomb.” He rested his hands atop my own for a moment in comfort before taking the papers. “Would you like some tea as you read?” I offered.

His nod was absent, his eyes darting to and fro as he all but devoured that months’ worth of the story. Still I poured him a cup, alongside my own. Savoring the richness and flavor of the tea, a parting gift from Emil, though he did promise to come visit soon. I was into my second cup by the time the doctor had finished reading. His expression grave as he began to speak.

“She mentions the same sleep-walking incident as our friend, Dr. Seward.” A presumption, for I would not count Dr. Seward among my friends. “And Lucy, without her understanding that she has done so, traces her problems to that incident. So you were there, by her own words, and I would ask you out of so much kindness, and understanding for your grief, to tell me all of it that you remember.”

“I can tell you all about it, yes, Dr. Van Helsing.”

His bushy eyebrows rose. “Then you have good memory for facts, for details? It is not always so with young ladies.”

I found myself wishing to argue that it _was_ so, for clearly he does not know we ladies memorize things quite frequently, and detail is of the utmost importance. But that was here nor there. “I wrote it all down, at the time, Lucy’s first entry mentions I kept a journal of my own, does it not? I can show it to you, if you like?”

“Oh, Madam Mina, I will be grateful. You will do me much favor with this.”

It was perhaps a bit of fairy trickery, but I found myself handing him my shorthand journal first.

He took it with a grateful bow. “May I read it?” He asked.

“You may,” I answered demurely as I could.

He opened it, and for an instant his face fell. Then he gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, you so clever woman!” He handed the journal back to me. “I knew long that Mr. Jonathan must be a man of much thankfulness. But see, his wife have all the good things. And will you not so much honor me and so help me as to read it for me? For your shorthand is not known.”

Putting away my journal I took the typewritten one and handed it to him, a much fatter stack than Lucy’s own. “I hope you forgive my jest, I could not help it. Yet as you can see, I have typed it all out as I did Lucy’s, for it seemed the faster way than reading aloud.”

He took it and his eyes glistened. “You are so good,” he said. “I will read it now, for I may want to ask you some things when I have read.”

“By all means,” I agreed. “I shall get us lunch, and then you may ask your questions while we eat.”

He gave another bow, then settled himself in a chair with his back to the light, becoming quickly absorbed in the papers. I brought the tea with me into the kitchen, for I didn’t want it to go to waste by getting cold. Drinking the rest of it did seem to help keep in the laughter that wished to escape my chest. Would it all be that easy?

Once the pot was empty, I took my time making a simple lunch for us.

When I brought it back into the room, it was to find the doctor pacing up and down the room, his face ablaze with excitement. When he spotted me his eyes lit up, and I think had I not been carrying a tray he would have rushed to me.

“Oh Madam Mina,” he enthused as I approached. “How can I begin saying what is owed? This paper is as sunshine after the dark room. I am daze, I am dazzle, with so much light. Yet clouds roll in behind the light every time. Ah, but as you know not all that I do, you cannot comprehend. Yet I am grateful to you, you so clever woman. Madam”—he said this solemnly as we sat down—“if ever Abraham Van Helsing can do anything for you or ours, I trust you will let me know. It will be pleasure and delight that all I have ever learned, all I can ever do, shall be for you and those you love from this man you should call friend.”

I set a sandwich in front of him, and he grasped my hands before I could pull them back, squeezing them almost too tightly in his own. “There are darknesses in life, and there are lights. You are one of the lights Madam Mina. I know now you will have happy life, and good life. Your husband is so blessed by you.”

“But, doctor!” I tugged my hands free, hiding them under the table so I might rub the ache from them. “You praise me too much, when you know me not!” Did the players upon a stage feel like this? That they gave too much when little would have done? Yet at least the embarrassment I felt was real, if not for the reasons I spoke.

“Not know you! I, who am old, who have studied all my life the brain of men and women. I, who have read your diary that you have written for me, and which breaths out truth. How can one not know you after this?” Oh, Madam Mina! Like all good women your lives, by day and hour and minute, tell such things that only angels can read. We men, who would wish to know such goodness, are blessed by angels to see it. Like your husband, you have noble nature, for you both trust in me; and trust cannot be if there is mean nature.

“Tell me of your husband? Is he well now? You mentioned he was ill with brain fever, is he now strong and hearty? Does he recall?”

So then I would give all my lies at once, it seemed. Yet if they are asked for, how could I not? Hopefully it would not be the straw that broke the camel’s back and bring the truth rushing out. “He does not,” I did my best to sound apologetic. “He is much recovered though, thank you for asking. Yet I needs must worry for him. For though you read that I promised not to read his journal, I have done so! And it is such a terrible thing!” Now I was the one who grabbed Van Helsing’s hands, perhaps too tightly myself, for I could feel my nails bite his skin; though he made no complaint.

“I think I do not wish him to recall, doctor. For I am not sure any mind might contain the memories that led to what he wrote. I do not know if it bears anything upon Lucy’s affliction, yet I must beg you still to help him in any way you can, if you are able.”

Van Helsing’s eyes grew soft, and they crinkled as he gave a warm smile. “Since I have been summoned to here by my friend John Seward I have known so many good people, which have been barren in my life before now, and seen such nobility. Believe me, then, that I bear full respect for you, and you have given me hope—not for what I ultimately seek, but that one may still find good women that make life happy. Good women who will teach goodness for their children to be.”

I strangled the urge to laugh inside my chest. At the time all I could think of was the old Donne poem: “Though she were true, when you met her,/ And last, till you write your letter,/ Yet she/ Will be/ False, ere I come, to two, or three.” I have certainly proven his words true, as unkind as they are.

“I am glad! Glad that I may be of some use, to repay for all you have done to me. His suffering is in my area, and I shall do _all_ for him that I can. All to make his life the strong and manly it should be, so that you might be happy in his health. Now you must eat!” He nudged my own plate closer to me. “You are overwrought and perhaps over-anxious. Husband Jonathan would not like to see you so pale. What he like being not where he love, is not to his good, which is what we seek! You have told me all about Lucy, so we will speak no more, lest it distress.

“I shall stay in London tonight, for I must think over what you have given me. When I have finished thinking, I might ask questions of you, if I may. When you have eaten, you shall tell me all.”

Which did not suit me at all, but he became as stubborn as an ox and would not be moved. So we ate in silence, not at all to my liking.

Once all was done, and the dishes cleared away, he sat me down and cleared his throat quite stentoriously. “Now, tell me all about him.”

I took a deep breath, I had gotten this far, I only needed to see it all through. “Dr. Van Helsing, what I have to tell you is so queer. I hope you will not laugh at me, or my husband. Since I read the journal yesterday I have been in a sort of fever of doubt. Please be kind, and do not think me foolish that I have even half-believed such that I have read.”

“Oh my dear!” He took my hands again, though not so strongly, and gave a grave nod. “If you only knew how strange is the matter regarding my reason to be here. If you did, you should laugh. I have tried to keep an open mind, to not think little of anyone’s belief, no matter how strange or wrong. They have them for a reason, and once that reason is known, the truth may be shared with all.”

True enough, one might suppose, though I found his manner somewhat aloof with those words. Still I nodded. “Then I have more papers for you to read.” I extracted myself and went to my desk, pulling out the thickest sheaf of papers yet. “As you can tell, it is long, but this is a copy of his journal when he was abroad some months ago, it contains all that happened. For I dare not speak of it. Read it, and form your own judgements. Perhaps, when you next visit, you would be so kind as to tell me your own thoughts.”

“I shall,” he said, quite pleased, as I gave him the journal. “In the morning, if I may? So all shall be freshest still.”

“Lunch,” I suggested. “For Jonathan has work in the morning which he must attend, but has time enough to return here for lunch. Would half-past eleven suffice?”

He nodded in assent, holding the papers closely as I saw him to the door.

Once it was closed and I was sure he was gone, I sank to the floor. Laughing and crying in a good fit, unable to contain it all anymore. It was enough that I wished Jonathan or Emil were there, to help channel my hysterics into something more enjoyable.

* * *

_Letter (by hand), Van Helsing to Mrs. Harker_

_22, Sept. 6 o’clock_

Dear Madam Mina,

I have read your husband’s wonderful diary. Though we speak in the morning, I wished to know you slept well tonight. So know, without doubt, that strange and terrible as it is, it is true! I pledge my life upon it. 

Husband Jonathan is a noble man, this we both know, and I say with experience of such men, that one who would do as he did in exploring that castle, and seeing that room, is not one to be injured in permanence by a shock. His brain and heart will be well in the end, this I swear.

I shall have much to ask him of other things. Oh, that I was blessed in seeing you today! For I have learned all at once so much that I am in a dazzle—dazzle more than ever!

Yours the most faithful,

Abraham Van Helsing, M.D., D.Ph., D. Lit., Etc., Etc.


	85. Harker's journal, Seward's phonograph; 23, Sept.

Jonathan’s journal, cont

_ 23, Sept _ —When I got home last night, Mina had supper ready, and afterwards she told me of Van Helsing’s visit and that she’d given him the diary and journals. “Though I did not mean to,” she said. “But he seems to believe it all, even so.” She showed me the letter Van Helsing had written, saying that all that happened in my journal was true. Perhaps when I had been ill this would have comforted me, but being myself again, and knowing what I know now of Emil, it seems silly that someone else’s agreement would make me believe my own experience.

“Emil’s game is afoot then, and we need only play our parts,” Mina finished.

I let myself express that so much lying made me uncomfortable, I am a solicitor after all, even if I only deal in property. To tell the truth has been ingrained into us from the first lesson onwards. 

Mina took my hands and helped me up. “That is why I love you,” she said as she led me to our rooms.

_ Later _ —Van Helsing has come and gone now, I find I agree with Mina’s assessment of him. That perhaps he means well enough, but at least to Mina, that does not change the fact it is by his doing that Miss Lucy is how she is now. And that perhaps he is quite gullible, that he believes all Mina and Emil wrote without question.

So after my morning work was done, I went to get Van Helsing to bring him for lunch.

He was, I think, surprised to see me. For when I came into room and introduced myself, he took me by the shoulder, and turned my face round to the light, and said, after some scrutiny: “But Madam Mina told me you were ill still, if much recovered. Yet you look wholly well!”

That he feels so familiar with Mina to call her such is bemusing in a way, yet I guess his fondness for her will make everything go easier. So I only smiled, saying: “I  _ was _ ill, you are correct, but you have cured me already.” The lie felt heavy on my tongue, yet still escaped easily.

“And how?” Even as he asked he sounded as if he were already greatly pleased with himself.

Which made what I said next almost easier to bear. “By your letter last night, Mina showed it to me when I came home. It has let in the light of truth through my darkness of doubt, guiding me towards wellness. Ah, but you likely do not know what it is to doubt so.”

He seemed even more pleased, laughing as he replied. “I am with so much pleasure coming to you for lunch. And sir, you will pardon an old man I hope in praising your wife, for you are greatly blessed in her.”

There was a strange unreality in hearing those words, for he is right to praise Mina so. I  _ am _ blessed to have her, that she agreed to marry me, and is so strong that she has walked this path with me with much grace and kindness. Yet she and I are joined in a great charade against him, so such praise seems almost naive. So I could only nod and walk silently.

“She is one of God’s women,” he appeared to take my silence as a sign for him to continue. “Fashioned by His own hand to show us men and other women that there is a heaven where we can enter, and that its light can be here on Earth. So true, so sweet, so noble, so little an egoist.”

I nearly laughed at that, giving everything away. It is not that Mina is full of herself, but I can certainly say she is not afraid to make her wants known and see them satisfied—I perhaps have Emil to thank for this, though I do not see it as a bane—though she does not slight my own in the process.

“And you sir!” Van Helsing seemed not to have noticed my near slip. “I have read all the letters to poor Miss Lucy, and some of them speak of you. So I know you since some days from the knowing of others. Yet now I know you in true since last night. You will give me your hand, will you not? And let us be friends for all our lives.”

We shook hands. He was so earnest and kind I would have felt a cad for saying no, though I doubt he would feel the same if the truth were known. 

Soon after we reached the apartment, and Mina greeted us both cheerily, a good lunch laid out for us all. As we ate we spoke of nothing of import. Throughout it all Mina was the perfect hostess, though perhaps only I could see the faint cracks in the facade.

When we had finished, Van Helsing insisted he and I retire to my study, so as not to make Mina worry more over everything. I don’t suppose he thinks I will tell her all anyways, once he is gone.

One the door was shut, his cheery expression turned grave. “May I ask you for some more help? I have a great task to do, and at the beginning it is to know. You can help me here, and perhaps elsewhere to once the knowing is done! Can you tell me what went before your going to Transylvania?”

“Concerning the Prince, I take it?” I asked.

“It does,” he answered solemnly.

“Have you not read the papers all that Mina typed up? For everything is there.”

He gave a little laugh. “I have been a bad reader, jumping to the end to know all will be well! Though the true epilogue was in meeting you, yes? Then I shall read it anew. And think upon questions to ask. Perhaps you will come to the asylum when I am finished and send for you, and take Madam Mina with you?”

“We shall both come, if we are able.” Why he asked for Mina to come, when he seemed content to keep her out here and now baffled me, but I did not try to understand his reasoning.

He nodded sharply. “Good. Then would you be so kind as to see me to the train?”

I agreed that I would, though I found I did not wish to spend more time with him. As we left the study his eyes fell on the newspapers piled up next to the fireplace as starter. To my surprise he went over and picked up the top one—“The Westminster Gazette,” I knew it by the color—clearly reading it over. “Might I take this?” He asked all in a rush.

I said he could, for it was of no use to me anymore. He spoke not a word in the carriage ride to the train, his mind clearly at work on something, for which I was grateful. 

* * *

Seward’s Phonograph, cont.

Truly, it seems, there is no such thing as finality. Not even a week has passed since I said ‘Finis,’ yet here I am sitting to dictate once again. Though I am not sure if this continues all before, or is freshly new. If the latter it bears many elements of the former.

Until this afternoon I had no cause to think of what has been finished. Renfield no longer seems even a flyman, but only a man. If one the keepers have sometimes heard begging for his ‘angel’ to return. I had a letter from Arthur, written yesterday, and from it I gather he is about as well as can be. I am grateful that Quincey seems not to have mentioned my party the other day, which did not yield up results which satisfy me. The Danesti are perfectly civil and noble, not at all what one expected considering whom they consort with.

As for myself, beyond the party, I have only settled into my work, with the enthusiasm I once had. So perhaps the wound Lucy made has begun to cicatrise.

Or so I had thought, but it now has been all torn open again, as a child picks at his scabs. What is to be the end, if the wound proves fatal, or it does heal over, has yet to be seen; and perhaps only God himself knows.

Van Helsing returned from London today, after his excursion to meet with the Harkers. He almost bounded into the room, thrusting last Friday’s “Westminster Gazette” into my hand.

“What do you think of that!” He exclaimed as he stood back, folding his arms.

I looked over the paper, but could see nothing of interest. He took it from me and pointed out a paragraph about children being lured away at Hampstead. Which was terrible, but not interesting, until I reached the mention of small puncture wounds on their throats.

“It is like poor Lucy’s mark!”

The Professor gave an encouraging nod. “And what do you make of it?”

“That there is some cause in common?” I asked slowly. “Whatever it was that began her illness has injured these children as well.”

“That is true indirectly, but not directly.” A more confusing answer there never was.

“How do you mean?” I asked lightly. It had been over a week free of the burning, harrowing anxiety that had plagued me since Arthur called me first, so it could be said my spirits were much restored. Yet when I saw his face I became more sober. Not even when Lucy was alive and ill had he looked so stern.

“Tell me!” I demanded. “I can hazard no other opinion!”

“Do you mean to tell me, friend John, that you have no suspicion as to what poor Lucy die of? Not after all the hints given, not only by events, but by me?”

“She was killed by criminals!” Ones that had still yet to be found. “We have no proof if her illness would have spelled her doom.”

Van Helsing’s expression softened some as he stepped over and joined me. “You are a clever man, friend John, and you are right. Yet I fear had there been no crime, Lucy would have died from this illness, and it is clear we are not done with it ourselves. You are too prejudice, however, you do not let the eye see nor your ear hear, and that which you do not experience in your daily life is of no matter to you.

“Do you not think that there are things which you cannot understand, and yet are? That some people on this Earth can see things which others cannot?

“It is the fault of our science, it’s one flaw, that if it cannot explain a thing it will say there is nothing of note there. Yet do not your Spiritualists and others prove there are new things discovered that cannot be yet explained by science? I suppose you do not believe in corporeal transference. No? Nor in Materialisation. No? Nor in astral bodies. No? Nor in the reading of thought. No? Nor in hypnotism—”

“Yes,” I said. “Mesmer has proved that pretty well. Charcot and the like expanding the study.”

“Then you are satisfied as to it? So am I to take it that you simply accept fact, and let from premise to conclusion be a blank? For if you accept Mesmer and hypnotism, how can one not accept the reading of minds as well, eh?

“Are there not things we practise today in science which would have been deemed unholy and demonic not even a century ago? The minds of men have grown since then, yes? They are always growing bigger, the English biggest of all! Yet not even your big English brain can likely explain how Methuselah lived nine hundred years, and “Old Parr” one hundred and sixty nine. Or how a photograph may catch the image of a ghost, or of a man’s dying sight, yet we cannot do it with our own eyes.

“Can you tell me why, in the Pampas, ay and elsewhere, there are bats that come only at night, opening the veins of cattle and horses, suck dry their veins? How in some islands of the Western seas these bats have been described as like giant nuts or pods, and that when the sailors there sleep on the deck, the bats come, and in the morning sailors are found dead men, white even as Miss Lucy was?”

“Good God, Professor!” I gave a start. “Are you saying that Lucy was bitten by such a bat? That such a thing is here in London and has not yet been spotted?” Even as I asked these questions a recollection arose. “Yet I’ve heard Quincey speak of such bats, and he has said they barely make a nick. For his own horse survived such an encounter.”

He waved a hand. “Bah! We are great learned men, yes? Why should an American such as he, even as he has traveled the world, know what we know? I have studied this greatly, and have been your teacher before, do you not trust my word?”

I relented that I did, and he nodded. “I understand your struggle, for you wish also to trust your friend. He may believe what he says to be true, but that does not mean it is. For much science would say ghosts and fairies are not real, but there is also science that says there is! Which fact should you accept? As for such a beast in London, did you not have that Spring-Heeled Jack here, whom could not be found and yet terrorized the city so?”

Here I interrupted him. It was clear he was attempting to teach me something, but I was becoming bewildered, mind too full of all he’d said, my imagination getting fired. Then however, he would tell me the object of thought, so I might keep it in mind as we traveled down a path. So lost I finally said: “Professor, let me be your student again. Give me the thesis, so I might apply the knowledge as you speak. At present I feel I am a man going from point to point as a madman might, and not in the sane follows an idea. I am jumping from tussock to tossock in a misty bog, knowing I need move, but not knowing  _ where _ I am moving.” 

“That is a good image. You are right in that I should tell you, so I shall. I want you to believe.”

“To believe what?”

“Believe in things you cannot! Such as the bats, and that such people and creatures can live so long than others, which science does not know, yet others all agree. That there are more than just humanity in the world we now inhabit. Let me illustrate. I heard once, a learned American say of faith: ‘that faculty which enables us to believe things which we know to be untrue.’ I follow that man. For he mean we must have an open mind, and not let what we believe to be truth get in the way of discovering what  _ is _ the truth.”

I thought about this for a long moment, mind working. “So am I to believe you want me not to let some previous conviction inure me to the receptivity of my mind, in regard to this matter. Do I read the lesson right?”

“Ah! You prove why you are my favorite pupil still. Now that you are willing to understand, I shall ask again. You think that those small holes in the children’s throats were made by the same that made the hole in Miss Lucy?”

“I still suppose so, yes.”

He stood up, and said solemnly: “Then you are wrong! Oh would it were so, but alas, no. It is worse, far, far worse.”

“In God’s name, what you do mean?” I cried.

He threw himself with a despairing gesture into a chair, covering his face with his hands as he spoke. “They were made by Miss Lucy!”

For a while sheer anger mastered me; feeling it was as if he’d struck Lucy while she were still alive. I smacked the table hard, and rose up quickly. “Dr. Van Helsing, are you mad?”

He let his hands fall away, and looked at me, the tenderness of his face calmed me. “Ah, if I were! Madness, your patients know, is easy to bear. Compared with a truth such as this. Why, think you, did I go so far round, why take so long to say such simple thing? Friend John, it was because I wished to be gentle, for I know you have loved that sweet lady. Even as I tell you now, I do not yet expect you to believe. This truth is only an abstract to you, so you can reject it. Yet once I have shown it to be concrete, it will be more hard to reject, even as it involve Miss Lucy. Dare you come with me tonight, so that it might be concrete?”

This staggered me, and I knew not how to answer.

He saw my hesitation, continuing. “I know you do not wish it to be so, yet if you are right, you and I will feel such great relief. If it be true? Ah, there is where the real work begins. First then, let us gather some evidence. Shall we go off to see the child? If the child be there. Even if not, Dr. Vincent, of the North Hospital, where the child was. Will speak to us of it, and if the child is there he will let us look upon the case. If not, he will say where the child is home, that we might still look upon the wound. We shall tell the doctor nothing, however, only that we wish to learn.”

He took a key from his pocket. “Then we spend the night, you and I, in the churchyard where Lucy lies. This is the key that lock the tomb.”

My heart sank within me, even as I agreed, for I could tell there was some fearful ordeal before us. I could do nothing however, so plucked up what heart I could and said we had better hasten, as the afternoon was passing…

The train ride felt agonizingly long, and when we reached the hospital we were relieved to find the child was still there, and now awake. 

Dr. Vincent took the bandage from its throat and showed us the punctures. Save that they were smaller, and newer, they were a match for the ones on Lucy’s throat.

We asked Dr. Vincent what he attributed them to, and he replied that it must have been a bite of some animal, likely one of the many bats that swarmed the northern heights of London. “Most of the lot are harmless,” he said. “But there might be some newer, more malignant species brought home by a sailor, or perhaps escaped from the Zoological Gardens. These things do occur, you know.

“The mites have been having quite a galatime with this ‘beuful lady.’ Even this one, when he woke up yesterday, asked the nurse if he might go. When she asked him why, he said he wanted to play with the ‘beuful lady.’”

Van Helsing looked grave. “I hope, that when you are sending the child home you will caution its parents to keep strict watch. These fancies to stray are must dangerous; and if the child were to remain out another night, it would probably be fatal. But in any case, I suppose you will not let it away just yet?”

“Not for another day at least; longer if the wound is not healed.”

Our visit to the hospital, compounded with the train ride to London, took longer than we had reckoned on, the sun dipping as we came out. Van Helsing noted it as we came out. “It is no hurry. Come, let us seek somewhere we may eat, then we shall go on.”

We dined at Jack Straw’s Castle, along with a little crowd of bicyclists and others who were genially noisy. Only after ten o’clock did we leave ourselves. It was then very dark, and the scattered lamps made the darkness greater beyond their small globes of light. 

The Professor had evidently noted the road we were to go, for he lead unhesitatingly; but I was quite in a mixup as to locality. As we went further, we met fewer and fewer people, till, at last, we reached the wall of the church, which we climbed over.

With some difficulty—for it was very dark, and the whole place seemed so foreign and unwelcoming to us—we found the Westenra tomb. 

The Professor took the key, opened the creaky door, and standing back motioned for me to precede him. There was a strange irony in the polite gesture, in the courtliness of giving preference on such a ghastly occasion. He followed me quickly, and cautiously drew the door behind us, after ascertaining the lock was a falling, and not a spring, one

Then he fumbled in his bag, and proceeded to make a light with a piece of candle.

The tomb in the daytime, wreathed in flowers, had looked grim and solemn enough. Now, some days afterwards, the flowers hung lank and dead; the groundskeepers having not cleared them away yet. Their whites turning to rusts and mummy browns, the greens turning a lank and withered black. Time discolored stone, with it’s dust encrusted mortar, along with the metals: rusty, dank iron, tarnished brass, and cloudy sliver plating, gave back the feeblest glimmers of candlelight. All together the effect was more miserable and gruesome than could be imagined. It conveyed irresistibly that life, of any sort, could not last, and decay would, in the end, take us all.

Van Helsing went about his work systematically. Holding his candle so that he could read the coffin plates, until he made assurances of Lucy’s coffin. Another search in his bag, and he took out a turnscrew.

“What are you going to do?” I asked, despite knowing full well what he intended.

“To open the coffin, you shall yet be convinced.” Straight away he began taking out the screws, until finally lifting away the lid, showing the casing of lead beneath. The sight was almost too much for me, and I actually took hold of his hand to stop him.

He only said: “You shall see.” Reaching into his bag again to pull out a tiny fret-saw.

Striking the turnscrew through the lead, which made me wince, he made a small hole. Yet big enough to admit the point of the saw.

I had expected a rush of gas from the week old corpse and stepped back. For even though we doctors, who have had to study our dangers, are accustomed to such things; did not mean I wished to experience it. Yet no such smells reached my nose, and the Professor never stopped for a moment. He sawed up a couple of feet, then across, then down the other side. Taking the edge, he bent it back towards the foot of the coffin, and holding up the candle, motioned for me to come look.

The coffin was empty!

It was certainly a surprise to me, and gave me a considerable shock, but Van Helsing was unmoved. Clearly he was now more sure than ever of his ground, and so emboldened to proceed in his task. “Is this satisfied, friend John?”

“I am satisfied that Lucy’s body is not in that coffin,” I answered, all the dogged argumentativeness of my nature awakening. “But that only proves one thing.”

“What is that?”

“That it is not there.”

He gave a grave nod. “That is good logic, so far as it goes. But how is accounted it not being there?”

“Perhaps body snatchers,” I suggested. I felt that I was speaking folly, and yet it was the only real cause which I could suggest. Though I grew distrubed to know some medical student might have cut poor Lucy open already, and none would know.

The Professor sighed. “We must have more proof then, come.”

He put on the coffin lid again, gathered up all his things, and put them away, blowing out the candle last before it too, went away. We fumbled to the door and went out. Behind us he locked it, handing me the key, saying: “will you keep it?”

I laughed. “A key is nothing,” I said. “There may be duplicates, and anyhow it is not difficult to pick a lock of that kind.”

Saying nothing he put the key away. Then told me to watch at one side of the churchyard, whilst he would watch at the other. I took up my place behind a yew tree, and saw his dark figure move until the intervening headstones and trees hid him. I heard a distant clock strike twelve.

It was a lonely vigil.

In time the clock struck one, then two. I was chilled and unnerved. Angry with the Professor for taking me on such an errand, and at myself for coming. And there was no joy in knowing Lucy’s slumber had been disturbed. I was too cold, and too sleepy to be keenly observant, yet not sleepy enough to truly give in to slumber. So altogether it was a dreary, miserable time.

Three then, and four. After which I began to hear the sounds of knockers and lamplighters from the other side of the wall. In the east the sky began to grey as morning began its creeping.

Van Helsing returned to me, his face pulled in a frown. Dissatisfied with the night as much as I was. Yet he allowed we might go and return to the Asylum.


	86. Seward's phonograph, Lucy's diary; 24, Sept

Seward’s phonograph, cont.

It is wonderful what a good night’s sleep will do for one. Yesterday, Van Helsing’s monstrous ideas almost made sense; but now they seem to be nothing more than lurid imaginings. Though I have no doubt he believes it all. I wonder if his mind has become unhinged.

There must be some rational explanation of all these mysteries.

I saw him off just a while ago, but before he left he gave me a bound stack of papers, insisting that I read them all before his return. That it would explain much. They sit at my desk for now, untouched. He also said he had telegramed the Harkers, letting them know of his departure and return, and his wish to see them again. That we _all_ might meet to discuss these events.

I shall endure the meeting, but if it becomes clear that it is all poppycock, or worse of all, that the Professor has somehow managed this all himself, then I will do what is required of me. Perhaps, if he is mad, under my care I can see him well again.

Mem: must go speak with Renfield, as I have heard nothing one way or the other from the Keepers about him in some time.

* * *

Lucy’s diary, cont.

 _24, S_ —Despite it having been a week, or close enough, since my...rebirth, hunting has grown no easier. Though I do it still, not knowing what might occur to me should I not. I have been told the hunting here is easier there than it ever was back in Transylvania, which does not comfort me a jot.

When I inquired why they did not feed on the Tzigane, who seem more than willing to help in all other areas of the Dănești’s lives, I was told in no uncertain terms it was forbidden. Apparently they find blood unclean, and though they love the Dănești, do not wish to be sullied so. So far I have never been so _hungry_ that desperation pushes me to do so, and I should hope never to be so either.

Mina and Jonathan are visiting now. Or, I had the chance to visit with them earlier, and now they are tucked away in Emil’s rooms, on the other side of the manor. I should perhaps be relieved that though my hearing is better then it was before, it is not _that_ good.

Hopefully there shall be a sliver before I retire and after Mina awakes, for us to converse. For I miss my friend, and being able to speak with her.


	87. Seward's phonograph, Mina's journal; 26, Sept.

Seward’s Phonograph, cont.

The Professor seemed to return in a great rush and a storm on his heels, when I met him at the station he was in a singular mood. “Tell me, have you read them?” He enquired as we took my fly back to the asylum.

I admitted I had not, work taking all of my time.

Even as he frowned, he gave a nod. “Then I shall endeavor to aid you so that you might have time. At least, after you have collected our other guests.”

“Other guests?” I exclaimed.

“The Harkers, yes? As I said. And others, who should all be at the station soon enough. Acquaint me with your patients and helpers, and you shall be free to do as you please.” He assured me.

It has been a few days now, and I still cannot tell if he is mad himself or not yet. Work has not taken up _all_ of my time, some of it was spent directing Hennessey, who has some familiarity with the Resurrectionists that I do not. He returned this morning as well, but with Van Helsing to take up my time I cannot hear his report about the search.

Still, I gave him the particulars of the work, telling Hennessey we would talk later, and for now to make sure that Van Helsing did not do anything too terrible while I was away.

Then it was back to the station, where I did indeed find the Harkers waiting. They had little luggage, but when I went to help Mrs. Harker with hers I was surprised at how heavy it was. She gave a little embarrassed flush, admitting she’d packed her typewriter, in case it was needed. She seems quite secretarially minded, and I wish my own at the asylum were half as prepared, perhaps it goes with her hawkish nature.

Her husband, by comparison, appeared clever by his own face, and full of energy. Though it all seemed quite restrained by his business-like nature, which was all quite as it should be, one should think.

When we reached the fly the Harkers insisted they were happy to wait there while I returned for Van Helsing’s other ‘guests,’ which made me feel something of a poor host. Yet if they had remained, what could we have spoken of? Lucy’s death was still too recent to spend sharing recollections of her life. And I doubted they’d have any interest in my own work, nevermind that it was not quite fit for ladies to hear of. So I returned to the station, hoping whomever else was to come would arrive soon.

I had some measure of waiting, as the next train was not to arrive for another ten or so minutes, which felt interminably long. Yet I waited them, and felt a thread of tension when the train came into the station. As it began to disgorge passengers, I looked to see if there were any I recognized, for it should be so if Van Helsing would not even tell me whom else I was gathering.

To my surprise I spotted Quincey’s dark, tall, form in the crush. He turned when I called his name, and gave a wave. I began to push my way through until I reached him, him and Arthur. Who looked haggard, but still mostly himself.

“Van Helsing sent for you?” I asked as we walked. Having the sense to also mention my fly wouldn’t be able to hold all of us.

“Yes,” Art, to my surprise, spoke. “He said he had important news about Lucy’s illness, and how we could help prevent it happening again.” I felt grateful that the Professor at least had the sense not to mention he theory about Lucy’s ‘attacks’ on the children.

Quincey easily hailed a hack when we reached my fly, suggesting they all ride in it while I brought the luggage along. Normally I would not deign to such a thing, but some time alone with my thoughts would be for the best, so I agreed. It also gave me the time to wire my housekeeper to tell her to prepare rooms.

When I arrived all were settling in. Van Helsing directing as a general might. He was delighted when I approached him. “Copies! Ah, that Madam Harker, she is the best of her kind! Now, go and read yours, friend John, and tonight once all is known we shall speak of what is to be done about the menace in London.

I sit here now, recounting all that has happened, and looking at these pages Van Helsing wishes me to read. I perhaps feel a bit like Faust, about to enter in a bargain I do not truly understand and will spell my doom. Yet I must...Hello? Come in.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Dr. Seward. I had thought you were in conversation...ah, is that a phonograph?”

( _recording cuts off_ )

* * *

Mina’s journal, cont.

 _26, Sept_ —Politeness dictated that I thank Dr. Seward for his hospitality, so I found my way to his study, where I could hear his voice speaking, but with no reply. I knocked and came in when invited.

To my surprise he was alone, only a phonograph—or what I assumed to be a phonograph from the drawings I had seen in the advertisements—on his desk.

We had a brief conversation over it, and when I asked to see how it worked, he turned quite embarrassed, admitting that he did not know how to pick out a specific thing in his recordings, as he did not mark them out in any fashion. “It never once struck me how I was going to find any particular part of it in case I wanted to look it up,” he sounded quite rueful.

Seeing an opportunity to have a better grasp of what he and Van Helsing knew, and how that might help in Jonathan and I’s deception's, I insisted he hand it over for me to transcribe, as I had what Van Helsing had given me.

It is a good thing I did not laugh at Seward’s horrified expression, though I deeply wanted to. “I have read worse, I assure you, doctor.” I indicated at the stack of papers he had on his desk. “Or have you not read what Van Helsing has? For if you had, you would gladly hand over those rolls and thank me for the help.” Which was perhaps a bit imperious.

After a few long seconds he relented. “I should trust you as Lucy did,” he said. “For you kept her greatest secrets, and I trust you shall do the same to me?”

I lied and agreed I would. He handed over only the first few cylinders, saying he would give the others once he had an accounting of Jonathan and I. Which I must accept, as much as I dislike it. That he has given me some is better than nothing, and now I shall have an accounting of sorts.


	88. Chapter 88

Seward’s phonograph, cont.

I do not know truly if this is still the twenty-sixth or...no, the clock tells me it is almost one, which makes it the twenty-seventh.

I have finished the accounts within the papers Van Helsing gave to me, and it is scarcely to be believed. Harker is of a good strong nerve, to have endured as long as he did, and it speaks to his character that he is well recovered.

Earlier in the night I passed by the bedroom given to the Harkers, finding the light still on and the sounds of low conversation and typewriting coming from the keyhole, the both of them hard at the work of organizing it all. Mrs. Harker says with my own phonograph, which I gave her the remaining cylinders of after dinner, we shall have a more complete picture of all that has occured. Though part of me wishes none would read my account.

Yet having read their previous work, I find I am relieved my assessment of the ‘Prince’ was not in error. For it seems he is not even human! He is good at aping it, though to me it seems clear that, like a parrot, he does not truly understand what he is copying.

It also has been implied, by Mrs. Harker matching the dates from my phonograph to what we already know, that Renfield is connected to this...Dracula. Which can scarcely be believed, yet my own recordings cannot lie. Strange, that when I visited him today, he seemed as sane as he now always seems to be. Yet I must doubt it, for if he is this Dracula’s man, then it is clearly a trick.

I also found time to finally speak with Hennessey. Though I do not know whether to thank or curse the news. Which is that there is nothing. No body matching Lucy’s description has entered any of the teaching hospitals even before her death. If it was nto a graverobbing, then what? Where has her body gone?

Later, right before dinner. Mem. I guess I must thank Mrs. Harker for making me aware of my lack of dating. I will also begin to make a notation on the end of each cylinder, so that it will be easier to pick them out.

The meeting Van Helsing promised, days ago now, is scheduled for nine o’clock tonight. To allow all to be up to date as possible with all events. For even Van Helsing had not read my own phonograph until I handed him one of the copies Mrs. Harker had made. 

He’d grinned at me. “It is as I’ve said yes, Madam Mina is a wonder we are blessed to know. It is rare to find a man’s brain in a woman, though many men would wish to have the brain she has, especially when she reveals she still has a woman’s heart. For I have come across women with men’s brains _and_ hearts and they are cold, cruel things, worse than any man could ever be himself. But it is clear God has fashioned her for some purpose, perhaps this very one!

“Fate has brought her to help us up to now. But now that everything is known to the hour, after tonight, I think we must close her out. We are determined to kill the monster, are we not? We are men, though, well suited for such things; where her womanhood is not. For we wish no ill upon her. It is a miracle she has stood strong so far, yet any more and she might break as camel does. Madam Harker must be saved from any suffering, whether it be in waking from nerves, or in sleep from dreams. She has her motherhood to look forward to, after all!”

I agreed heartily, and knew that even hawkish as she might be, Mrs. Harker would graciously bow out. If only for her husband’s sake.

I sat with the Professor as he read through my own words, a strange thing. Answering his peppering of questions when they came.

I could tell he’d reached the part of my mentioning Dracula owning the property next to mine, by the fact he looked heavenward. “Oh! That we had known it before!” I understood the sentiment quite deeply, but knew it would do Lucy no good to dwell on ‘what ifs.’

Now I must head to dinner. Quincey and Art passed me, both still carrying around their own copies of the account, like schoolboys and their textbooks. Tonight we will meet, and figure out what is to be done.

* * *

Mina’s journal, cont.

 _27, Sept_ —Everything is happening so fast it feels as if I should scarcely be able to keep up. Yet there are lives counting on it, so I must.

We met in Dr. Seward’s study, a few hours after dinner, and we formed a sort of committee, with Van Helsing at the head, seemingly naturally. It did not surprise me that I was asked to be secretary and record it all, of which this is the account in lieu of a true journal entry. Though I shall write my own thoughts afterwards, knowing none but Jonathan will read them.

“Now that we are all acquainted with the facts in these papers, we may begin. Firstly with something of what it is we face, for even with all our knowledge pooled, you know only the outline and not the form. But my colleges, and my own past knowledge, have illuminated much for me. Including who it is we fight against.

“Such a creature that we face, and likely too those women who serve him, are vampires. Of which there is long record of to prove their existence, if our own unhappy experience did not do enough. I have encountered their like before, over a decade ago. Then I did not believe, not until it was too late, now my mind is open to all possibility, and though tragedy has struck, we can still stop this _nosferatu_ before he become worse.

“He is strong, as strong as twenty men, or perhaps more; he is cunning, more than any mortal could possibly be, for he has had centuries to hone it. As in life he has the aid of necromancy to call upon, the dead answering to him better than any mortal medium could hope to achieve. He is a devil in true, all his being bent to evil and the furthering therin, as callous and heartless as any could fear to be.

“He can, with limitations, appear at will when, and where, he pleases; he can aslo, within range, direct the elements—the storm, the fog, the thunder—command the mean beasts: rat and owl, bat and moth, wolf and fox. He can grow, become small, and at times can vanish and move unseen.

“How then can we destroy such a monster? Where shall we find him? Is there any true hope? There is! For though this is a terrible task, and he a horrible thing, and failure spelling our doom. To become as he: foul creatures of the night, heartless and soulless, feeding on those we once loved, dooming them as we have been doomed. Damning us from Heaven forevermore. Yet still we must act, though I know I cannot ask the same of you, for you are not as old as I, and there are fair days ahead. So what say you?”

Jonathan’s hand rests on my knee, trembling a little and yet clutching tight. I feel the same, as if any moment I might, by some unknown word or deed, give all away. We have endured this far, and there is only little more to go, we hope.

Around us all agreed, Jonathan as well. It did not surprise me Van Helsing did not wait for my own agreement before continuing, why should he think me of any more use than secretary after all?

He lay his golden crucifix on the table, and had all the men swear on it, to see this through to the death of ‘Dracula.’ Once they had all done so, and returned to their seats, Van Helsing spoke again. “So you know what we fight against, yet for all that he is terrible, we are not without our own power! So many powers arrayed within us, that are denied to vampire: science, freedom of will to act and think, all hours of the day are ours, and not just the night. These powers are unfettered, and fueled by self-devotion and selflessness, fare greater fuels than selfishness and greed.

“So how shall we restrict further such that is against us? Though we might once have laughed at such an idea, we must bend to traditions and superstitions. Though ones that have been treated as thoroughly as the scientific method might dream! For vampire have been known to man since even before the Ancient Greeks, and in places all over the world: India, Germany, Iceland, China and France. And all accounts agree on what is, and how it can be stopped.

“So we know the vampire drink the blood of life, and cannot consume anything else. It throws no shadow, gives no reflection in the mirror. It is strong, as when he shut the door against the wolves, and can transform into animals, as he did in Whitby. Even into mist, as the ship’s captain says. It can become small, as it must have when friend John and I sealed up Lucy’s room with garlic, the tiniest sliver untouched allowing him all the access he needed. He can even see in the pitchest of darkness! When all others would be blind.

“Yet he is not free! He is more a prisoner than any slave, or madman, or criminal. For even as it is not of nature, it yet must obey some of nature’s laws! He cannot enter a place, unless he be invited by one of that house, though afterwards he will do as he please. All his great power ceases, like all evil things, when the dawn comes. These things we are told from history, and our own account confirm.

“Thus, his power is only all powerful within limit, when he has his coffin with the unholy dirt within to sleep upon, and at night when all good people are shut away safe.

“There is even more which history tell of us its weakness. For it cannot cross running water, excepting at slack or flood tide. There are plants and objects which will repel: the flower of garlic, the branch of wild rose, a crucifix most sacred of all.

“His manner of death must be exact: a blessed bullet through the inhabited coffin, else a stake through the heart and the cutting off of the head.

“We know where he live, and hope we shall find those many coffin he bring with him of the dirt. So it only means us to act. But what of the man who became this monster?

“My friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth University, has dug through that great library and uncovered his history. That he be that terrible Voivode Dracula the Saxon still speak of, whom fought against the Turk in life to defend his land and Christendom. So he was no common man, though perhaps he became common when tempted with the greatest of evils.

“For the Draculas, says Arminius, were wont to truck with Evil from time to time. This one studied at the Scholomance, which lies in the mountains by Lake Hermanstadt, which the Devil himself is said to run. Those students go by many names, those that survive the horrors they learn, ‘stregoica,’ ‘ordog,’ ‘pokol;’ all which speak of their vile natures. Dracula himself be called ‘wampyr,’ in one grimoir. So it is perhaps the greatest tragedy that such a good line will spawn such great evil, but that is the way of the world.”

Van Helsing fell silent after this for a moment, as if speaking of such evil had drained him. He sank into his chair, looking a far older man. “We must find the boxes from Whitby, first at Carfax, then in London. Make them holy so they give him no rest. Weakened so we shall meet him between noon and sunset, when sun is highest and he is weaker still. Thus will we have victory.”

He paused again, this time to take my hand. “Madam Mina, you have been a balm to us these days past, and your work has not gone unappreciated. Yet tonight your work must end, for you are too precious a thing to risk. Tonight at this end, you shall ask no more question. Trusting us to tell you all in good time. For us men, can bear such terrors, when you cannot. Instead you must be our Sun, guiding us with light and hope.”

Jonathan’s hand on my knee tightened again, and I could see him press his lips in that way of his that shows displeasure. Yet he said nothing, and I did not begrudge him that. So for now I would accept this ‘chivalrous care.

“No time like the present,” Mr. Morris spoke. “I say we prepare and go to the house tonight. Time is everything, and we might yet save his next victim.”

So we have now parted. Jonathan with the men to raid Carfax, and me to our rooms. Piri waits at the window, to no surprise.


	89. Seward's phonograph, Jonathan's journal; 28, Sept

Seward’s phonograph, cont.

It is now the twenty-eighth of September, nearing seven in the morning. We have checked the manor, and it was not as fearful an ordeal as I had thought it might be. Indeed, what happened before it could be considered of far greater import…

Just as we were about it leave the house, a keeper met us at the door, bearing an urgent message from the erstwhile flyman Renfield, asking to meet with me at once. I told the keeper to tell Renfield I would meet with him when I returned, for we had urgent business.

To which the keeper replied. “He seems very importunate, sir. I’ve never seen him so before, and I fear if you don’t see him soon the eagerness will turn to one of his violent fits.” I knew the man would not have lied to me, so I reluctantly agreed.

“You may all go on without me,” I told the others.

Only to be met with shaking heads. “I will go with you, Friend John,” said the Professor. “His case is great interest, and as Madam’s Mina’s work has suggested, might be tied to to _our_ case. I should much like to finally meet him, especially in this supposed state.”

“I will come too,” said Quincey.

“I would come as well, if you want,” this from Lord Godalming.

Harker excused himself, wishing to check on Mina.

So we all went to the asylum. Finding flyman in a state of considerable excitement, but somehow even more rational of thought and manner than ever before.

“Dr. Seward, I know the hour is early, and perhaps it is not the best time for such things. But as I have greatly improved in my health, and dare I say sanity, I do humbly request that I be released into my own care.” He spread his hands. “If you are reluctant to judge this on your own, then I should hope you would trust your friends to help you sit in judgement in this case, a good enough jury of peers.” He gave a little laugh, as if this were some private joke. “Yet I would hope for introductions first, if they are to do so.”

I was much astonished, that his manner had become so dignified, and certainly at the thought of making such introductions from the sane to a madman. Yet I was mildly charmed and bewildered, and found myself making introductions before I could quite stop myself. “Arthur Holmwood, Lord Godalming; Professor Abraham Van Helsing; Mr. Quincey Morris, of Texas. Mr. Renfield.”

He shook hands with all in turn, even speaking to each of them. “Lord Goldalming, it pains me to hear so of your father’s passing. I had the pleasure of working for him once, and recall him as a man of great honor, and well loved by all.

“Mr. Morris...have we, by chance met before?”

“No, sir, I do not believe we have.” Proof enough, in my mind, that Renfield’s current state was only an act, for when would he have met Quincey?

“Ah, apologies. I have heard much of your great state, Mr. Morris, and you should be proud of it. Already I hear America moves to outstrip its Mother England, even as we are the nightless empire. I should hope that the child does not repeat the mistakes of the parent.

“What should any man say when they realize they have met the great Van Helsing? I mean no offense by dropping conventional prefix, for how can one prefix define such a man as yourself? Who have illuminated much and endured such hardships as you have.

“So it is clear you are all great men, well suited to this time and place. And I swear to you all, that I am as sane as at least the majority of men who are in full possession of their liberties. I am sure that you, Dr. Seward, humanitarian, medico-jurist, and scientist, will deem it a moral duty to deal with me as such.” His appeal was done with a courtly air of conviction, that I’m sure would charm any jury.

I, for one, was staggered, even with my conviction it was an act. For even before he had reasoned so. Despite my beliefs I did almost tell him that he would be released, once his paperwork had been done in the morning. But I held firm, for who knew what trouble he would cause once freed?

To placate him, I made a general statement that he had clearly improved, and we would talk more about it in the morning.

“Ah, but you do not understand, I do not wish to _wait_ . If all here agree I am of sound mind, then what right have you to keep me here? I should be released at once! This very hour. Do you not agree?” He watched me intently, but despite my temper, I must have shown some negative on my face. He turned to the others, watching them just as closely. “Do you not _all_ agree?” He prompted.

I answered for the others. “It is to be no, Renfield.”

He looked at me gravely, as he sat back on his bed. “Then all that happens now be on your head, Seward.”

He would say nothing more when I pressed him for an explanation.

  
  


* * *

Harker’s journal, cont.

 _28, Sept_ —It is far too early, and Mina and the bed call to me—Emil’s imprint is still in the mattress and I find myself wishing to lay in it as well—but I will record this all down now while it is fresh.

I was not surprised to come to the rooms to find Piri sitting on the windowsill, though the rat she held in her hands as one would a cat was mildly off-putting. She smiled at me. “It seems Helene’s hooks in Renfield will do some good for a change, long enough time at least for us all to vacate the manor. And since Van Helsing seeks to find boxes, then _Mien Gott_ he will find them.” She clicked her tongue at this. 

“Where will you all go?” Mina asked.

Piri shrugged. “I do not know about Emil, but we shall return to London, though not the townhouse I think, Lord Koromezo has offered the embassy to us, and we shall likely take him up on his hospitality. To hunt _vampires_ in a manor house is one thing, but I think even the good Professor would quell at the thought of an international inquest.”

Her head tilted, likely hearing something we did not. “I must go. Farewell, Harkers, and I hope we meet again soon.”

Mina gave me a kiss for luck, and a murmured word of care, then I went downstairs to join the other men.

Who were all deep in conversation about Renfield—perhaps I am oddly grateful that Helene only sought to kill me—and his request for freedom.

Quickly though we returned to the task at hand, finally leaving the asylum for Carfax. I am sad Mina and I only had the one chance to visit it, for it would have been nice to spend more time on its grounds in good company.

When we got to the porch Van Helsing opened his bag and began speaking. “We go into terrible danger here, so let me arm you accordingly. Keep these near your heart,” he held out a handful of small crucifixes. “They have been freshly blessed and will repel it from touch. These will keep him away as well.” Here he handed out wreaths of withered garlic blossoms—Lucy was right, the smell _is_ quite atrocious. “As we know he has more mundane helpers,” this time knives and guns. “And so we might see clearly, these so small electric lamps, which can be fastened to the breast so, see.” He demonstrated. “Finally, this, the weapon of last resort.” He handed us each an envelope with a bit of Sacred Wafer inside. “Though do not needlessly desecrate,” he warned.

“Now, friend John, where are the skeleton’s keys?”

It took only a few tries from Seward to find a key that fit the lock, and soon the door swung open, soundlessly revealing a yawning hallway.

“ _I_ _n manus tuas, Domine!”_ Van Helsing murmured as he stepped over the threshold. We closed the door behind us, only then lighting our lamps.

The light from the lamps fell strangely, the rays crossing each other, our bodies cutting the light and throwing shadows, making the whole empty place seem as if it were closing in on us. That it feels such, when only a few days ago I walked through happy and unafraid, is perhaps a testament to our ‘foe.’ 

As we crept further in I found myself feeling as if we were in a tomb of sorts, empty of all life, save us. Not even a fly or spider to disturb the expectant silence.

On a table in the hall we found a ring heavy with keys, each carefully labeled in the spidery handwriting Emil had first used when writing my firm, all those months ago. Van Helsing lifted them carefully, as if the slightest sound might start some great battle. Yet even so, he spoke: “You know this place, Jonathan, yes? For you have copied the maps of it, and have better memory of it than us. Which way will lead to the chapel?”

I knew the way directly, of course, but that would tell too much, so I did my best to appear mildly hesitant. Making the trip ten minutes instead of five, each minute reminding me of how different this place had been days ago. Finally though, we reached the low, arched oaken door, ribbed with iron nails. “This is it.”

With little trouble, for the writing was legible if one looked hard enough, we found the right key and opened the door. Again it moved silently, this time letting out a faint, malodorous air. Somehow they had made the air stagnant and foul, and I was certain Helene had her hand in it. The memory of her own ‘chapel’ making me shudder even now. The only relief from the stench was the undertone of earthiness, but even that felt too much after only a few seconds.

Perhaps under ordinary circumstances, we would have turned away at the smell. I do not know of the others, but my own love and purpose helped me forward, my nose thankfully becoming deadened to the scent after a time.

“The first thing is to see how many of the boxes are left,” Van Helsing spoke as we began our examination. “And those we cannot find, we seek to find some clue to their whereabouts.”

With so few corners, our lights seemed steadier here, easily revealing the stacks of boxes, twenty nine, of the fifty they believe exist—in truth I could not tell you how many boxes it had taken the Tzigane to move all Emil’s wealth.

So we began to search for ‘clues.’ Once, when Lord Godalming cut his light back into the hallway as he turned, I thought we might have both seen Emil, red lips curled in a smug smile. Lord Godalming, however, only said “I thought I saw a face, but it was only shadows,” before resuming his search. When I moved my own light in that direction, the hallway was indeed empty.

Though I was sure Emil _was_ watching us. Perhaps amused at how fervently some of us were searching. Though I do not find it one bit funny that Van Helsing sought to kill him.

A ghost of a laugh tickled the back of my neck, making me shiver, Emil, bold even when faced with his enemies.

With a cut off curse, Morris drew our attention to him, skittering soon coming from the corner he’d been examining. The whole chapel coming alive with the writhing of rats when it had been clearly dead before.

Even I found myself appalled by the mass of them, standing as frozen as the rest. Save for Lord Godalming, who had seemingly prepared for such a situation. He bounded for the outside door, turning the bolts and the key before throwing the great door open, letting in what little moonlight there was—which made the rats seem almost phosphorescent.

He drew a silver whistle from his pocket, and when he blew on it, it made no sound. Or no sound we could hear, for the rats around us reacted to it, and in the distance I began to hear the yelping of dogs.

After a minute, three terriers came dashing around the corner of the house. We found ourselves being backed into a corner by the rats, and even knowing we would survive this, I still found myself afraid. The dogs continued their rush towards us, only to stop at the threshold of the chapel, letting out the most pitiful sounds one could imagine.

Carefully we made our way towards them, and looking a little cross, Lord Goldalming lifted one of the dogs and brought it over the threshold. It’s fearful trembling turned to a hunter’s excitement the moment it had been lifted so. So that when Goldalming set it down, it rushed into the rats headlong. He quickly followed suit with the other two dogs. We all made our quick escape out the door into the fresh autumn night.

A few minutes later the dogs exited, their muzzles red with blood, tongue lolling in pleasure.

Once again Van Helsing led the way, and with both doors still open a breeze followed us, clearing the air and likely raising the spirits of the others. Yet we still closed and locked the outer door behind us, and bringing the dogs, began a search of the house itself.

We found little, only empty rooms that, to me, carried the ghost of happier times. At one point Seward emerged from one of the bedrooms looking pale, and when I peered in myself I saw only the red drenched room Helene had claimed for her own, just as lifeless as everything else.

Reuniting in the hall, however, found us seeing Van Helsing in excitement, a few papers crushed in his hand. He said nothing about them though, only motioning for us to leave the house. Dawn was beginning to creep upon us as we left and made our way back to the asylum.

“So far,” Van Helsing finally spoke as we walked. “The night has been eminently successful. No harm to us as I feared, and we know what boxes are missed.” He held up the papers. “And where they might be! Our prey was not so clever in abandoning this. So our first, and perhaps our most difficult and dangerous, first step is done. Without needing to bring dear Madam Mina into such an environ, or even trouble her sleep. And we have learned _a partculari_ that even the beast it summon to defend itself can be so easily harmed as by these small dog, so it is not so great a fear. So we might, for now, cry ‘check’ on it which we track, though the ‘checkmate’ may not come for days and nights yet.” We reached the door to Seward’s house, and Van Helsing clapped each of us on the shoulder. “Go and sleep the sleep of the just and righteous, my friends; be content in the good work we have done.”

Gratefully I left them and returned to Mina, and now I shall indeed join her, and sleep most well, I believe.

* * *

Seward’s phonograph, cont.

I believe I managed only a few hours sleep before Van Helsing came into my room, around noon, waking me. He was more jolly and cheerful than I could recall him being for some time, the night’s work clearly having helped in that regard.

During the course of our conversation, we turned to Renfield. “Your patient, this ‘flyman,’ interests me much. May it be that we go see him together this afternoon? Or if you have much work, I might go alone,” he allowed.

I confessed I had some pressing work, so called a keeper to help him, cautioning the Professor about gaining a false impression of my patient.

To which Van Helsing gave a grave nod. “Yes, for he is ruled by our foe, But perhaps I may gain more knowledge out of the folly of this madman, to help us in our work.”

He left and I moved to my work. Which in the way of things seemed to pass so very quickly, yet when I looked up from the finished papers, I was surprised to see Van Helsing at the door again. “Do I interrupt?”

“Not at all,” I answered. “In fact I have just finished, if you wish we might go to Renfield now.”

He shook his head. “I have seen him already,” he sounded almost put out, like a child denied a sweet.

“Well?”

“I fear he does not give me much, the interview was short. He was sitting on his stool when I enter, his face the picture of sullen discontent. I spoke as cheerfully as I could manage, but he give no reply. ‘Don’t you know me?’ I pressed. ‘You sang my own praises not hours ago.’

“His answer was not reassuring. ‘I know you well enough: Abraham Van Helsing, the old fool. Take yourself and your supposed brain theories somewhere else, for I will not truck with such a German who holds only the tail, but claims it the whole elephant.’

“Not a word more would he say, acting as if I were not in the room at all, no matter how much I press. Now I wish to go cheer myself in Madam Mina’s presence, and to help distract her from her gone husband. Ah, it pleases me that that is her only worry, for a man who should be gone only the span of a day, and not upon what horrors have yet to come.”

“I agree with all my heart,” I answered. “Mrs. Harker is better out of it.” It would not do for him to falter in this decision, for we had all agreed upon it. “Even last night, as mild as it was, was no place for a woman, even if she had born it well at the time, it would likely tell on her later.”

So Van Helsing has gone to confer with Mrs. Harker. While her husband and Quincey have gone to follow the leads Dracula has left behind, which should turn up the rest of the boxes. Arthur has gone to Ring for some pressing business. But all three should return tomorrow, hopefully with more good luck for us all.


	90. phonograph, journal, diary; 30, Sept

Seward’s phonograph, cont.

I awoke suddenly in the night, a great feeling of anxiety and despair pressing down upon me, like Nightmares of old were supposed to do.

Yet I found I could move when I tried to, and decided the best course of action to deal with these unwelcome feelings was work. So I went to my study and began the task of organizing my cylinders, giving them dates for easier access.

Despite this work I could still feel the lingering touches of whatever dreams had woken me. For a time I found myself staring into the flames, and I could have sworn I heard a woman’s voice in the crackle of the fire.

Clearly after this all was over I needed to look after my own health, how can I do my patients any good when I am not at my mental best?

I went to return to my room, only to frown when I saw an odd mist upon the floor of the hallway, one that eddied and moved even though there was no breeze. If natural phenomena had wills, I would say this one was displaying it’s quite handily, clearly drifting towards the door to the Harker’s bedroom.

After a quick search I could find no window that the mist could have entered through, and starting to suspect fouler play than strange nature, I rapped on Van Helsing’s door, loud enough to wake him. He opened his door, and before I could even speak he seemed to already share my concern. “Where is this mist from, Friend John?”

I told him I did not know, but had my suspicions. He gave a nod. “Wake the others then, and tell them to arm themselves, as last night. Yourself as well.”

As I hurried down the corridor he called out. “There is not an instant to spare.”

Art and Quincey took little to wake them, thankfully, and did not question the call to action. When we met with Van Helsing in the corridor, he pointed at his own significantly. “They never leave me now. They shall not till this unhappy business is over. Be so wise also, my friends. Hurry, and hope that dear Madam Mina has not suffered as Lucy did.” He cut himself off with a sound, of terror or rage I could not tell. Nor could I tell if I felt the same.

Outside the Harker’s door we paused. Art and Quincey letting Van Helsing and I lead. Quincey spoke softly as the Professor reached for the door. “Should we disturb her?”

“We must,” Van Helsing’s face was grim. “If the door be locked, we shall have to break it open.”

“It will frighten her terribly. Most unusual to break into a lady’s room!” Poor Quincey, never has America produced a more honorable man of his color.

Van Helsing gave a nod. “You are always right, young Quincey. But all chambers are alike to the doctor, when it is life or death. We must never hesitate or we shall lose the war.” He tried the door, only to find it had been locked.

We threw ourselves against it; and with a crash it burst open, spilling us inside. The Professor was the only among us who did fall, and as I looked up from him my eyes fell upon a appalling sight. The hair on my neck rose like bristles, and my heart seemed to stand still.

The moonlight was weak, but the wide open window let in enough of it that we could see clearly. On the bed lay Jonathan Harker, face flushed, and breathing heavily as if he had run a great distance. Kneeling next to him, her whole body in profile to us, was the white-clad figure of his wife. And in front of her stood a tall, thin man, clad in black.

None of us needed to see his face to know it was Dracula, hidden as it was by a fall of dark hair. In his left hand he held Mrs. Harker’s own behind her back, forcing her chest forward against him, and with his right hand he held her red hair forcefully, using it to push her face forward into his own chest. Her nightdress, what little could be seen of it, was smeared with what had to be blood, likely from the wound on his chest, which could be seen thanks to his torn shirt. The scene felt as if it would fit in some salacious sadist’s tale, and what fear I might have felt turned into outrage on Mrs. Harker’s behalf.

Finally the Prince turned to face us, a truly hellish look leaping onto it. His eyes flamed red with anger, the great nostrils of the aquiline nose opened wide and quivered, and the sharp teeth gnashed at us through those open red lips that dripped blood.

With a wrench he threw Mrs. Harker back onto her husband, turning and making ready to spring at us.

By this time the Professor had gained his feet again, and was holding up the envelope with the Sacred Wafer. The Prince looked almost comical as he stopped mid motion, snapping his teeth even as he cowered from us. Emboldened I joined with Van Helsing and the Prince began to retreat, proving we were the stronger force to be reckoned with. 

The moonlight failed as a great cloud crossed the moon’s slim face; and when the gaslight sprang from Quincey’s match we saw nothing. Even that light vanished as Quincey raced out of the room, clearly intent on catching Dracula himself.

The rest of us approached the bed and the Harkers. Mrs. Harker sat upright, blinking slowly and looking around, as if waking from a stupor. When her gaze fell upon her bloodstained nightgown she let out a wild, despairing wail, the likes of which will haunt my ears till my dying day. Her face made it worse: a ghastly pallor over it, made more startling by the blood which smeared her lips and chin, and trickled in a thin stream down her throat. As she continued to scream her hands scrambled at her dress, as if to tear the offending item from her, her eyes clearly mad with terror.

I acted quickly, grasping her wrists, gently so as not to further injure them, and making the same sort of sounds I would use to soothe a frightened horse. Van Helsing quickly came to my aid, while Art—seeing we had this well in hand—departed, drawing the coverlet around her body. She trembled under my hold while Van Helsing bent to inspect Harker.

“Jonathan is in that sleeping state which we know the Vampire can produce. We can do nothing for poor Madam Mina, I fear, until she recover herself. If we wake him, she should recover faster.” He dipped the end of a towel into a bowl of water and flicked Harker on the face with it.

Hoping for the best, I released Mrs. Harker, to my relief she did not try to disrobe again, only clung to her arms, staring at nothing. I peered out the window, in time for the light of the waxing moon to return. As I looked I could see Quincey run across the lawn, hiding himself in the shadow of a yew tree.

It puzzled me, why he might be doing that; but before I could think long upon it I heard Harker’s quick cry as he woke.

I turned to see a look of wild amazement on his face, as seemed only right. He looked around in a daze, until he spotted his wife, then he burst into full consciousness. His movements made Mrs. Harker turn to him, her own madness beginning to clear upon seeing him. She opened her arms as if to embrace him, only to draw them in again a heartbeat later, burying her face in her hands and shuddering so violently the bed beneath them shook.

“Dr. Seward, Dr. Van Helsing, what is it? What is going on?” Harker cried out. “Mina, my dear, what is it? Why is there blood on you?” He stilled. “Oh God, has it come to this? Mina, my God!” He leapt from the bed, shoving Van Helsing and I aside, rushing for his clothes. For a moment I thought I saw blood upon him too, but it was only a trick of the eye, gone as he pulled on his pants. “Tell me all about it!” He practically shouted as he dressed. “You both love Mina, I know. Guard her while I look for _him_ ,” he snarled this in rage. I could not help but think not even the devil himself could stop Harker in that moment.

The Devil perhaps could not, but Mrs. Harker, forgetting her own distress, lunged at her husband. Showing the mark of a good woman as she seized hold of him. “No! No! Love, do not leave! I cannot suffer more, dreading that he has harmed you. Stay with me, please, Jonathan, I cannot bear it!”

He yielded to her, taking them both down to the bedside, where she clung to him fiercely.

Van Helsing and I tried to calm the both of them, hoping this was only temporary madness for I did not wish for them to become my newest patients. The Professor held up his golden crucifix. “Do not fear, my dear,” he spoke with measured calmness, utterly reassuring. “You are safe now, and we all must be calm to take counsel together.”

She shuddered, burying her face in her husband’s chest. Jonathan holding her firmly as she sobbed out her hysteria. He looked at us over her bowed head, though part of me wondered if it would not do her good to see such a fiercely protective expression. It certainly made me feel a stronger man to see it bestowed with such love. “Dr. Seward, tell me all. Leave not a word out for fear.”

I told him exactly what had happened.

He listened with seeming impassiveness; but his nostrils flared and his eyes blazed as I spoke of how the cruel hands of the Prince had held his wife, how he’d force her towards the wound in his chest. It interested me, even at that moment, to see such a face set with such passion whilst his hands tenderly and lovingly stroked his wife’s hair.

As I finished, Quincey and Art returned. As they entered Van Helsing gave me a look, which I understood to be asking if there should be a distraction for the Harkers from each other. When I nodded he turned and asked our friends what they had seen or done.

Art answered first. “I did not see him anywhere in the hall, or in the rooms. But he’d clearly been in the study, for he’d—” He stopped, gaze falling on the Harkers.

“Speak,” Van Helsing commanded gently. “There are no more concealments, we must know all.”

“He’d been there, and made a rare hay of the place. All the manuscript’d been tossed into the fire, the cylinders of your phonograph too, Jack, if the blue flames were anything to go by.”

“Thank God there are more copies.” Again Mrs. Harker’s forethought served us well.

“I ran downstairs, but could see no signs of him,” Art continued. I could feel Art was holding something back. But he would not do so without purpose, so I said nothing.

Van Helsing turned to Quincey. “And you, friend Quincey?”

“A little. I thought I would catch the ba-bugger on the grounds, or see where he might be off too. Did see a bat, flapping westward. If it was him, he clearly ain’t be heading to Carfax, and won’t be back anytime soonish with the dawn coming up. So today’s our day I say,” he finished laconically.

For a space of time none of us said anything, and I fancied I could hear the sounds of all our hearts beating.

Then, with utmost care, Van Helsing place his hand on Mrs. Harker’s head. “Madam Mina? Are you well now? Poor, dear Madam Mina, I do not want you pained by the recollection. But we _must_ know all if we are to win the day, yes?”

The dear lady shivered, even after everything her body still tight with tension. For a moment she buried her face completely against her husband. Only to then raise her head proudly, she pulled away from Harker some, but they did not completely part. After a pause, she began, sounding as if nothing ill had even happened to her.

“I thought I slept deeply, yet for a time I became more wakeful, horrible fancies crowding into my mind. Even as they pressed upon me I resolved myself for sleep, resolute and doing my best to put such fancies aside. And I must have, for I can not even recall when Jonathan must have joined me in bed; though he was there next I remember.

“There was in the room a thin white mist, and I strangely felt no terror. I turned to wake Jonathan, to share the sight with him, but he did not wake no matter what I did. When I turned back I felt only a fluttering of fear before it vanished, for the mist had vanished and instead there was a figure standing at the foot of the bed, eyes alight. I knew him at once.

“For an instant my heart stilled, and had I breath in my lungs I should hope I would have called out. Before I could draw breath however, _he_ spoke. A sort of cruel murmur as he pointed at Jonathan. ‘Not a word, or you shall see how cruel I can be, Mrs. Harker.’ With a mocking smile he sat next to me on the bed, cold fingers curling on my shoulder and head to bare my neck.

“I should have resisted! But I found I could not. Even when I felt his breath on my throat as he spoke again. ‘First from you, a reward, I think. Do not fret, you know this well already.’ So he set his lips upon me!”

Her husband groaned, and she turned to him. Her look of such loving pity, it were as if he were the one injured, not herself. She continued: “I felt my strength draining away, until I was in a swoon. How long the horrible ordeal lasted I could not say. But it felt an age until he took his sneering mouth away, his tongue darting out to take the last of my blood from his lips.” She stopped for a moment, as if the memory were too much for her, and shuddered again.

Harker held her tighter, laying a kiss on her hair. So bolstered she took a deep breath and went on. “He spoke again, mockingly. ‘You know now what it means to cross my path, Mrs. Harker, and the rest of your little party will soon know the same. They all should have kept their energy banked for things closer to home. They think they play their wits against me? I, who commanded armies, and intrigued and fought for my lands hundreds of years before they were born? Here they should know the futility, for is this not a countermind? For you are their best, and you are now _mine_. Blood of my blood and flesh of my flesh, and soon as kin to me. But not yet, you are more useful yet as this, yes?’ With that he pulled open his shirt, and with a nail cut his chest. When the blood began to pour he did as you saw him when you came in, and with my face pressed so, I needs must either swallow or suffocate. So I—Oh God! What have I done to deserve such a fate? Look down on this poor soul, yet give your pity to those she hold most dear!” She spoke no more, hiding her face away once again in Harker’s breast.

The first rays of sunlight fell upon them as the dawn came, painting the blood in a lurid light, true, but the Harkers themselves seemed to glow in the light as well, as if the sun were the eye of God as some claimed, and was blessing them.

We have arranged that the Harkers are not to be left alone for now. Though later we must plot our course of action and deal with the boxes as we have planned.

* * *

Harker’s journal, cont.

 _30, Sept_ —I am grateful Quincey took the first watch, and that he was willing to give us something approximating true privacy, setting in further down the hall, and not right at our broken door.

Mina and I held each other for a while, talking softly of nothing important, neither of us willing to attempt sleep. Too energized by our being caught _in media res_ , and the merry tale told afterwards—even if that was mostly Mina’s doing and not mine.

After a time, Emil returned to us, perhaps not looking as contrite as he should have. And when I spoke of my dislike for it all, I did not mind the lying, not anymore, but that our private things might be made public, and judged indecent, he pulled me to him gently.

“I am sorry, Jonathan,” he soothed, running his lips against my cheek. “Though even you must admit, Mina was a glorious thing.”

On my other side, Mina seemed to glow with pride. “Thank you,” she said demurely. “I am just grateful they believed it.”

Emil was not wrong, and I found myself pulling away from him to embrace her as I recalled the feelings her words had invoked in me, ones I hoped had been mistaken for anger. That Emil watched with such blatant interest only made it more enjoyable.

When the time for breakfast came, Mina and I roused ourselves. Our lack of sleeping helping to make us appear more grief stricken and upset than we were. As our party ate, we all discussed what was to be done next. The very first thing to be agreed upon, was that Mina was to be brought back into our confidence, though I doubt the others knew she had never left mine.

Her being so demure and withdrawn in agreeing to the wisdom of this made her look quite pitiful, which likely only engendered more care—I had certainly not known when we married that she could be so clever, it certainly makes me love her all the more, I find.

“There is nothing in all the world that can be worse than what I have already endured,” she said sorrowfully. “Whatever may come, I would face it down with you all, with all the hope and courage in my breast.”

Van Helsing watched her intently, perhaps he finally suspected something. “Madam Mina, are you not afraid? After what has happened?”

She met his gaze calmly, looking beautiful and terrible. “I am not afraid, for my mind has been made up.”

Under the table I took her hand in mine. “To what?” Van Helsing asked gently.

“To my own end,” she answered. I clutched her hand tightly, the only sign I dared give her of my affection. “Should I find in myself some sign that I will harm anyone, I shall deal with it in the most final of ways.” Oh, I know Van Helsing believes Emil trucks with the Devil, but I think instead it must be something Divine. Or perhaps he has brought it out in her, this woman who inspires only awe and love, an Angel in flesh. Hidden away in my Mina until such time it was needed.

“You would kill yourself?” Van Helsing asked, hoarsely. Eyes wide with perhaps fear, fear that such steel and conviction lay within this woman he held above all others.

“I would. Unless someone should take it upon themselves to spare me that sin.”

Van Helsing stood and approached her, resting his hand atop her head, as if a priest giving benediction. The idea didn’t suit, however, for Van Helsing could be nothing like God to bless and Angel. “Oh my child, should we all be as brave as you! I could hold it in my account with God to give such an euthanasia for you. But my child—” He looked as if he were about to give a great sob, only to gulp it down. “First we would stand between you and death, if you would allow it. For you must not die, not yet, not by your hand or any other. Not until the one who has befouled your sweet life is dead, may you die. For you yourself would become as him should that happen.

“Live! Cling to your joy and even though death seem a boon you must struggle along with the rest of us. This I change you, this is the first of your tasks, as one of our company.”

Mina met Van Helsing’s gaze boldly, hazel eyes bright with every emotion imaginable. “I shall live, for now,” She agreed. Accepting further his offer of the papers and Seward’s phonograph cylinders yet unscribed.

Death, I think, would mean nothing to us now. That we would become, as Van Helsing feared, like Emil. And even if I had not taken his blood as well, I would have let Mina give me hers, so that I might walk the road with her as I vowed to do on our wedding day. So in a way it is love that has turned even Emil into a monster in the eyes of others.

We then moved on to speak of the boxes, and how best to go about cleansing them. “It is good we did not act upon the ones in Carfax,” Seward said. “For Dracula clearly does not know what we plan, otherwise he would have confronted us more directly.”

“Today is ours then, to strike!” Van Helsing agreed. “Until the sun sets tonight the monster is trapped in one form, bound by it’s constraints. Leaving us to the boxes, and if we find him, then we hope to end it. If it not be so, then by blessing the earth we might yet drive him to some place of our choosing, where he might be easier dealt with.

“And no one shall doubt our purpose in these places no? For we shall have the keys and the deeds as if the places were ours, and act as owners might. We shall search for clues, and bless the boxes, and so begin our crusade, and hope it a short one.”

We arranged it all as we thought best, then departed to make it so.

Carfax gave us no trouble, and to ‘bless’ the boxes was easy as Van Helsing demonstrated it. One by one we opened the boxes and placed a Sacred Wafer in the dirt therein. Then closing them up and arranging them as they’d been before, so that no one might suspect.

When we closed the door behind us, Van Helsing seemed in brighter spirits. “So much done! If it be like this with the others, then with sunset we might meet Madam Mina as victorious men and receive her grateful smile.”

We had to hurry to make the train, but managed it. Which is where I write this now.

  
  


_12:30 o’clock_ —we are waiting now, for Godalming and Quincey to return.

Getting into the house in Hampstead was frighteningly easy. Godalming and Quincey left for a locksmith and made as if they’d been absent minded and forgotten their keys. Perhaps I chewed my cigar more than smoked it, as Van Helsing, Seward, and I waited in the nearby park. But there was no complication, and after Quincey and Godalming we went and knocked, as any caller might.

Again I was struck with the strangeness of having been in a place once so full of life, only to enter it now in this lifeless state.

A quick search of the ground floor found eight more boxes, which we dealt with quickly.

In the dining room, we found more keys. Which Quincey and Godalming took with them once we ascertained they belonged to the other houses Emil had written of in his ‘notes.’

So we wait, with seemingly endless patience, for their return, or for Emil himself to confront us.

* * *

Lucy’s diary, cont.

 _30, S_ —Today has been quite frightening, and...exciting in a way.

But to return to a few days ago...Leaving Carfax after moving there so soon was sad in a way, but Helene explained that Van Helsing wished to kill us all, and had drawn in even Arthur to his cause. “Though,” she gave a sharp, cruel smile. “The Horse is already inside the gates, and I am not there to tempt them out. So it will not end well for him.”

We returned to London, to stay with Prince Koromezzo, who is a surprisingly charming host, and thankfully it is not an endless stream of parties, though he is clearly out often on business.

As to today...Helene has been giving me more of her own blood alongside the amount I must consume from others; which helps me to stay awake during the day—she does this because she does not wish for me to be caught unawares, and so that I might _leave_ with her should it come to that, instead of being taken away by her. So it was that I was awake, and found I wished to reclaim some of my own old things. It was unlikely that Uncle Morty had already sold everything off, so there might still be one or two baubles still left that I could snatch from the house.

I did tell Hajni and Piri where I was going; I would have told Helene too, had she been there.

I didn’t call a hack, instead choosing to walk. It took a few hours, but it felt nice to be amongst the crush of London life. And when I reached my house I did not even feel the least tired, as I might have before my...death. So this strange un-life I find myself in has its boons.

Getting into the house was easier than I thought it would be. I cannot turn into such things as mist or animals just yet, but my strength is far greater than it once was. The house was much as I remembered it, if covered in a few weeks dust, which would have had mamma in a fit.

There were more of my things remaining than I had thought there might be. I left the dresses, the Dănești have been generous and given me a whole new wardrobe, but I did rummage through my jewelry box. I found a few pieces I did not wish to part with, but not Helene’s brooch. I frowned deeply and wondered where it might have gone.

The Dănești town house perhaps? It would not take me long to look, and I knew the windows to Helene’s room were unbolted, so that I might easily enter without attracting too much attention.

I made my way over and quickly skirted around to the back. An old beech tree helped me up, and soon I was pushing open the window and climbing inside. I stilled upon entering however, realizing I was not alone. The voices of men beneath me, and their heartbeats too, ringing in my ear.

I should have done the smart thing and looked only for the brooch before making my way back to the embassy. But I was not smart.

Oh so carefully I crept to the stairs, not a creak of wood, or a whisper of breath betrayed me. Closer now I could recognize the voices! Van Helsing, and Seward, and Jonathan.

“...he experiment yes? Do we not see how at the first all these great boxes were moved by others. He knew not then but that must be so. But all the time that so great child-brain of his was growing, and he began consider whether he might not himself move the box. So he began to help; and then, when he found that this be alright, he try to move them all alone…”

Was he speaking of the Prince? What a strange thought, that Dănești somehow had a child’s brain, even Helene—who at times despises Dănești greatly—has spoken of his intelligence. I would think if the Prince had wished to move boxes all on his own from the beginning he would have, but it is certainly easier, and far quicker work, to hire many to do it for you.

A knock on the door startled me from my musings, and clearly it was expected, for none of the men gave a start upon hearing it. The door was opened, and my heart seemed to beat in my chest for the barest of seconds upon hearing Arthur’s voice.

Oh, I know we cannot be, but I do miss him greatly.

Again, I should have left, instead I moved closer still, wishing to see Arthur, to know that he was well with my own eyes and not from the words of others.

Thankfully they were not gathered in the hallway, but in one of the rooms, allowing me to get even closer. They talked of destroying boxes, and how they expected Dănești to come to the townhouse at any moment in search of shelter. Both of which I did not understand, but perhaps this was part of the plan Dănești had to foil Van Helsing.

I peered carefully around the threshold, Jonathan, Quincey, and Van Helsing had their backs to me, but I could see Seward and Arthur quite well. Oh Arthur, you looked so grief-stricken yet strong, as I recalled from when your father was ill. Doing his best to hold up as was expected of him. I wish I could have held him, encouraged him to be weak, for a time.

But it cannot be.

Satisfied I made to leave.

Only for Seward to call out in horror behind me.

I turned to find them all staring at me, horror and disbelief on most of their faces.

Jonathan ‘recovered’ first, and drawing a wicked looking knife he charged. “Be afraid,” he murmured so that only I could likely hear him.

I _was_ afraid, so it was easy enough to tremble, and try to escape. I let him ‘catch’ me, and turn me quickly around. He raised the knife high, and while I trusted he would not truly hurt me, I still feared for what life I had left. Which made me snarl and writhe in an attempt to escape.

The knife came down hard on my shoulder. Hard enough that it _should_ have penetrated my flesh, except that it did not.

Oh, my dress was torn and I could feel the knife press where it wished to go. But in the end it skirted away, like a cat avoiding a puddle.

Which surprised both myself and Jonathan. Giving me the opportunity to ‘throw’ him off—forgive me Mina, though perhaps you will enjoy being able to fuss over his minor injuries—and make good my escape.

I am back at the embassy now, and do not think I shall leave unless it is absolutely necessary. Hopefully I have not made a right mess of everything.


	91. Harker's journal, phonograph, Mina's journal; 2, October

Harker’s journal, cont.

 _2, Oct—_ Mina and I have not slept much, she is worried over what will happen now that the others know of Lucy, and how that will affect this ‘hunt’ of ours. Seward and Godalming both seem to be in a sort of shock, while Van Helsing has thrown himself into the manuscript again, as if that will help him uncover some new clue as to where Emil, and now possibly Lucy, have gone.

I think that Lucy does not return to her own coffin confuses him, and I do not envy him, having to come up with some ‘explanation’ for it.

Regardless, we have talked much over what is to be done. Emil will be leaving England soon, but I doubt Van Helsing will let him go so easily. Which is what Emil wishes, so I am certain he has plans upon plans of how it may go once we follow.

As dawn began to come, Mina gave me a little push. “Go wake Van Helsing, tell him I wish to be hypnotized. That he must be quick, and do it before dawn is over.”

I nearly tripped over Quincey in the hallway, and he jumped up quickly, saying he would fetch Van Helsing for me. Turning back to our room, I saw Mina had already put on a dressing gown, and was sitting at the edge of the bed, hands fisted in her lap.

I took them in my own and kissed her fingertips. “You don’t need to do this, there can be another way.” I wished I knew how much a toll this all took upon her, so that I might be able to ease it in some fashion.

She smiled warmly, and leaned her forehead against mine; making me feel as if we were the only two in the world. “I know, Jonathan. But I do not mind, truly. And Van Helsing trusts me, despite what feels like all evidence to the contrary.”

Before I could give a response, Van Helsing rapped sharply on the door before entering. When he saw us, he gave a big smile of his own, and rubbed his hands together. “Ah, that is the Madam Mina of old! What is to be done? For you should not call me here for nothing.”

“I want you to hypnotize me, before the dawn is over. Do it now, while I feel I can talk freely and hold nothing back.”

He gave a grave nod and grabbed a chair so that they might look each other in the eye. He began to make passes in front of her, from over the top of her head downward, with each hand in turn. I do not know who has taught him, but it is certainly like no hypnotism I have ever seen before.

At the time I could not tell if it was working on Mina, or if she was playing the part, but her eyes soon closed and her body stiff.

Van Helsing made a few more passes, then stopped, great beads of perspiration on his brow.

Mina soon opened her eyes again, but they looked distant and hazy as if she were not seeing us at all. Van Helsing nodded, as if expecting this, then carefully gestured for the rest of the party to enter. Once they’d quitely arranged themselves Van Helsing began to speak in a soft, level tone. “Where are you?”

“Nowhere,” Mina’s voice answered neutrally. “For there is no true place in sleep.”

For an agonizing few moments there was silence, more and more sunlight creeping into the room as dawn began to fully arrive. Noticing this, Van Helsing spoke again, never once removing his gaze from Mina. “Where are you?”

“I do not know, I cannot see a thing, it is so dark!” 

“What then, do you hear?”

There was a short pause before Mina spoke, and Van Helsing seemed to tense, as if this were somehow taking a great toll on him. “Water, lapping, lapping, lapping. Sushing about as it comes and goes, but it is outside where I am.”

“A ship?”

“Yes!”

“What else can be heard?”

“The crew, stamping overhead. The creaking of a chain, the flap of a sail.”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” Mina’s body shuddered. “Not a movement, so still, as if dead!” Her eyes closed and she sagged against me. Only to pull away a few seconds later, confusion on her face. “Has it happened? I feared I fell asleep.”

“No, Madam Mina, it has all gone perfectly. Thanks to you, we might begin our hunt anew. We know now that Dracula intends escape. Yes, ESCAPE! But we shall not let him go, now that we know he has his hand upon you, and has cursed poor Miss Lucy with his monstrosity. She will know no peace until he is dead, I fear.

“Ah, but he is wily as a fox, but we are now expert hunters, yes? So we hunt him down so quickly he can scarce believe, even with his growing intelligence. He plans to escape on ship, but though there are many that are leaving London port today, we know he cannot leave it while the day still go, and that gives us all the time we should ever need to find the ship, so that we might follow in it’s heels. For now, we prepare.”

* * *

Seward’s phonograph, spoken by Van Helsing

To Jonathan Harker,

I do give you this command that you remain with dear Madam Mina today. We all are enough for the search, even as we grieve for Miss Lucy. For your care of Madam Mina now is your holiest office.

I know already what our enemy intend with this leaving, he has found London not to his liking now that we are here, and seek return to his castle. But we shall catch him sooner, this I know.

So we shall find the ship, and keep a close eye on it as we make our own journey to intercept.

For the battle has just begun, be we are sure in our victory.

Van Helsing

* * *

Mina Harker’s journal, cont.

 _2, Oct, 5 pm—_ Our meeting for report. Present: Professor Van Helsing, Lord Godalming, Dr. Seward, Mr. Quincey Morris, Jonathan Harker, Mina Harker.

Van Helsing described what steps were taken during the day to discover on what boat, and whither bound, Dracula made his escape: “As know that he wanted to get back to Transylvania, I felt sure that he must go by the Danube mouth. Or by somewhere in the Black Sea, since by that way he come some months ago.

“It was a dreary blank beyond that before us. _Omne ignotum pro magnifico_ ; so with heavy heart we start to find what ships leave for the Black Sea last night. By suggestion of Lord Godalming we go to Lloyd’s where are note of all ships, however small.

“There we find only one ship Black Sea bound, gone out with the tide. The _Czarina Catherine_ , and she sail from Doolittle’s Wharf for Varna, and thence to other parts up the Danube. So we go off to Doolittle’s Wharf and we find man in an office so small the man seem bigger than the office. We inquire of him the goings of the _Czarina Catherine_ , and he swear much, with a red face and loud voice. But he was a good fellow, and better still when Lord Godalming spoke to him and give him something from his pocket.

“He take us to dock and asks many men who are rough, who become better after they are not thirsty. They say much of blood, and bloom, in places where I gather they have other meaning, but they tell us what we wished to know.

“They make known to us that last afternoon at about five o’clock, comes a man so hurry. A tall man, thin and pale, with high nose and eyes that seem to be burning, dressed all in black. That he scatter his money in making quick inquiry at to what ship sails for Black Sea. Some took him to the office, and from there the ship. But he do not go aboard, but halt at shore end and ask the captain come to him, which these men allow was only half-polite.

“The captain come, quick when he was told there be good pay, and he agrees to the thin man’s terms. So the thin man go and soon return driving a horse and cart carrying a great box. Which he lift up easily from cart, though it take several to put it on truck for the ship. The thin man give much talk to the captain as to how and where the box be placed. But the captain like it not, even with the money being so scattered, and curse at him in many languages!

“The thin man seemed to take no offense, only offered more money, and told that it would be done before he returned. Whereupon the captain curse polyglot again, and say the man had best be quick, for the ship will leave before the turn of the tide. The man gives a nod and departs ‘no one knew where he went ‘or bloomin’ well cared,’ as the men we speak to say. But he return right quick, and come aboard, asking about his box.

“To which the captain curse him again, but the man not bothered, going with the first mate down below to check upon it. The man did not return up to deck, however. Yet none seemed to care, and the ship went out on the ebb tide, and was doubtless by morning far down the river mouth. She is by now far out to sea.

“So, it is that we have to rest for a time. For to sail a ship takes time, and when we start we go by land more quick than any ship. And we meet him there in Varna, where the box be headed. Our best hope is to come on him when in the box, between sunrise and sunset; for then he can make no struggle, and we may deal with him as we should. There are days now for us, in which we can make the best plan.”

Van Helsing paused here for a moment, his face darkening some, and when he spoke again, it was with more passion than before: “It is necessary, necessary! We hunt him down. For Madam Mina’s sake, as well as poor Miss Lucy! Who is Un-Dead as you shall be Madam Mina should we not put an end to him. Should he die, you will be free, and Miss Lucy too! Thus, we are ministers of God’s own wish: that the world, and men for whom His Son die, will not be given over to monsters, whose very existence would defame Him. So we will go out, as the old knights of the Cross, like them we shall travel towards sunrise, and like them, if we fall, we fall in good cause.”

After which we began the planning in earnest.

Or perhaps it is better to say Van Helsing, Seward, and Godalming planned in earnest, we rest helped, and listened.


	92. Seward's phonograph; 3, Oct

It is October the third, early in the afternoon. Today we all rose early, and I think sleep, despite all that has happened, did its good work for each and all of us. When we met at early breakfast, there was more general cheerfulness than any of us had likely ever expected to experience again, at least while this hunt of ours continued.

Perhaps it is owed to the resiliency of human nature. Let any obstruction, whatever it may be, be removed in any way, and we fly back to the principles of hope and enjoyment. More than once as we sat around that table, I did wonder whether the whole of the past week had been only a terrible nightmare.

Excepting my thoughts would turn to Lucy, oh Lucy! How wretched you looked, so lifeless and adamantine as you had never been before. I hope what the Professor says is true and that Dracula’s death will be Lucy’s freedom, for I do not think any of use, perhaps save Van Helsing himself, have the nerve to give her the same death with plan for Dracula. Even when they are the same.

As to Lucy...I fear Mrs. Harker begins to follow in her footsteps, though perhaps slower, as Dracula is not here to continue his predations. I have mentioned this to Van Helsing, and he should be here soon for us to speak of it more. I supposed that Dracula have some poison in him, and that it consumed Lucy, and will do the same for Mrs. Harker that begins its work in her blood. But I dare not think on it further, or so dishonor such a noble woman in my thoughts!

  
  


Van Helsing has gone now, but will return soon for our meeting. We talked over the state of things, and I could tell something was weighing on him. After beating around the bush some, he finally spoke to the point: “Friend John, you and I must talk of this alone first, then perhaps later we might bring in the others, once we two are sure. Madam Mina, our poor Madam Mina is changing!”

I felt a shiver of fear, that my own worst thoughts were confirmed. I said nothing as to those yet, letting Van Helsing continue.

“We have warning now, thanks to our sad experience of Miss Lucy, and we must not let it happen again. When I look upon her I can begin to see the characteristics of the vampire in her face! But very slight; but when eyes see without prejudge it is there! Her teeth are some sharper, and at time her eye be hard and cruel towards us. But not all! For is it not that she has been more quiet these past few days? Not even when we bore the horrific news of Miss Lucy did she say a word, though I have thought that she wished to.

“But my greatest fear is this: that if by our hypnotic trance she can speak of what Dracula see and hear, then cannot the reverse be true? For it be clear that he hypnotize her that night we found him with her. So could he not compel her mind to disclose what she know?”

I nodded in acquiescence.

“Then we must prevent it! For it would tear Madam Mina to the core to betray us so! I believe she will fight her utmost to protect us, but even the will of a woman cannot stand forever against Dracula’s brain, even as child-like as it be. So! We must keep her ignorant of our intent, so she cannot tell what she do not know. Oh, but it will pain us all greatly! Husband Jonathan most of all! Yet the worst fall to me, for I shall tell her when we meet that, again, she must not join us, for reasons which we will not speak.” He wiped his forehead, which had broken out in perspiration at the thought of inflicting more pain upon Mrs. Harker.

I offered him comfort as best I could, in saying that I thought the same, and it would be best for all should we exclude her from now on.

Van Helsing left only a little while ago now, but will return again soon for our general meeting. He prepares for his painful part in it, but I think, mostly, he goes to pray. He left the door ajar, and through the crack I can hear Mrs. Harker singing softly, and I find it does help to lift the spirit.

  
  


I will be to bed soon, but first, the rest of the events.

At the very outset of our meeting, both I and Van Helsing must have felt the same great relief: for Harker brought with him a message from his wife, saying she would not join us at present, for she was tired, and did not wish us to feel embarrassed by speaking of our movements in front of her. On my part, I think Mrs. Harker realizes, even if she is not conscious of it, that she is a danger to us.

Van Helsing and I quickly agreed, with brief movements and looks, that we would not share our thoughts and fears with the rest of our group, until we could talk more about them alone.

We went at once into our Plan of Campaign.

“It will take _Czarina Catherine_ three weeks to reach Varna, and we might do the same in only three days. Yet we must allow that Dracula will use his control of the weather to push her quicker, and that we might run into a complication or two which might delay us. Which give us a margin of two weeks in which to make ourself ready. Thus, in order to be safe, we must leave her no later than the 15th,” the Professor told us all gravely. “So that we might be in Varna at least a day before she arrive, to make ready ourselves and what preparations as may be necessary.”

Quincey, rightly so, suggested we take Winchesters with us, in case of wolves as Harker’s account gave. Which was quickly agreed upon.

Van Helsing gave a firm nod. “Tonight and tomorrow we can pack all needed. Then, if all be well, we four shall begin our journey.”

“Four?” Harker questioned, looking from each of us.

“Of course!” Van Helsing answered quickly, going to put his hand on Harker’s shoulder. “You must remain to take care of your so sweet wife.”

Harker was silent for a time, before replying. “I will consult with Mina about it.”

I did wish to tell Harker not to convey our plans to her, but when I looked to Van Helsing significantly, he only put his finger to his lips, and turned away.


	93. Mina's journal; 4, Oct

_4, Oct_ —It is strange, that Emil has shared our bed now for three months, yet to have him _not_ be there now, feels like a gaping absence. Which terrifies in a way, yet did I not feel the same when Jonathan was missing? So perhaps it is love then, and my accounting before God, when my end arrives, shall be an interesting one.

Jonathan and I have gotten into the habit of waking early, to have a bit of quietude before we must begin the rush and the ruse.

Today though there was to be no such respite.

When Jonathan returned from fetching Van Helsing, I was perhaps more surprised than I should have been that he was already dressed, and clearly ready to hypnotize me again. Though from him it does not good, but I can play along well enough, and Emil seems greatly pleased that even as alive as I am I can still reach for his own mind with my own. Though he has been quite wicked in his thoughts while I ‘visit.’

Van Helsing asked if I wished for the others to be here, but I shook my head. “That will not be necessary, I did not ask you here to hypnotize me. You can tell them just as well as I though, that I will be coming with you on your journey.” I would not let myself be left on the wayside, while they hounded Emil, and I would hold them to their promise that none would be hidden.

I clearly startled him with this, but he recovered soon enough. “But why?”

“Because I shall be safer with you, and you all shall be safer too.”

“But why, Madam Mina?” He repeated. “Your safety is our solemnest duty. And we go into danger! Danger to which you are, or may be, more liable to, from...circumstances...things that have been.” He cut himself off, clearly embarrassed.

“I know,” I answered, perhaps a little too sharply. “That is why I must go. For should Dracula will I will go anyways, and you shall have no knowing of it. Yet if I am with you, you may stop me. During our travels you might hypnotize me again as well, and so learn that which I myself do not even know.” All of which was good reason enough.

“Madam Mina, ah, as always you are very wise,” even as he complimented he remained grave. “Yes, you shall with us come! And we all shall do that which we set out to achieve.”

I said nothing in response, only pretended to fall asleep again. Jonathan and Van Helsing left, and now I wait for Jonathan to return and tell me all.

_Later_ —So it is planned that we shall leave in a day or two for Varna. And how best to ‘deal’ with Emil, though those that truly hunt him shall not find him such easy prey, of that I know.


	94. Seward's phonograph, Recollection; 5, Oct.

Seward's phonograph, cont.

The fifth of October, some time after sunset. Harker wished for me to be the one to take notes, as he does not feel he can do it himself, nor as accurately.

So it was a little before the time of Sunset when we were called to see Mrs. Harker. We have come to understand that sunrise and sunset are her times of true freedom, where her old self can manifest without any sort of controlling force acting upon her. This freedom begins some half hour or more before actual sunrise or sunset, and lasts only a few minutes after each. At first, there is a sort of negative condition, as if she were suddenly cut loose, but the absolute freedom quickly follows. When the freedom ceases the relapse comes just as quickly, preceded only by complete silence.

When we met tonight she was clearly already in a struggle, as if trying to win free as speedily as she could. In only a few minutes she’d done so, and gestured for her husband to sit next to her on the sofa, taking his hands in her own.

“So we are all here in freedom, for perhaps the last time! I know, dear, that you will never leave my side,” she turned to Harker with the most loving of smiles.

“In the morning we leave England for our great task, and God alone knows how it shall all end. I can only thank you again, for agreeing to take me with you, against your better judgement. I know that what you brave men can do for a poor weak woman, you will do.

“But you must remember that I am not as you are. For there is poison in my blood, seeping into my soul, dragging me further and further from Heaven. I am still ready to end it all, should it come to that end. But I should hope that, should some force prevent me from executing my will, you all will do your best to see it done.” Here she met each of our gazes in turn, full of such will that one might mistake it for a man’s.

I expected the Professor to be the first to swear, but it was instead Quincey. Who knelt before her as if he were some knight of old—though no knight ever had such skin as his. “I am perhaps not much more than a rough sort of fellow, not as learned or blessed, as some. But I do promise, Mrs. Harker, that I will do my utmost to see your will done.”

She did not bother to hide her tears, freeing her hands, she took Quincey’s raising them to her face that she might kiss them. “My true friend!”

“I swear the same, Madam Mina,” Van Helsing said, with all his iron will come to bear.

Even Jonathan swore, after Mina prompted him to, though he looked white as a sheet and clearly wishing his wife would not ask such a terrible task from him. I do not know if I agree with this idea or not, certainly should we encounter Lucy again, I fear I would not hesitate a second time. And I know she would thank me for freeing her soul at the ending of her curse. But Lucy is truly dead, while Mrs. Harker still lives, so perhaps there is some distinction to be made.

I must finish this entry quickly, for I am to give this cylinder to Mrs. Harker before she and her husband leave. I can hear her singing again, though it is an odd time for it. No more wondering, this is where it shall end.

* * *

Recollection

“How, then did you do it?”

“Quite simply, Jonathan, I told him to. Hajni can convince anyone to believe what she pleases, and you do not believe I could convince a man to set fire to his work and not try to escape?”

“After a century, I’d be a fool to believe you couldn’t, Helene.”

“Just his death was not enough for my revenge, he needed to suffer as he caused Lucy to suffer.”

“Van Helsing did the same and you didn’t make him suffer.”

“Not in the same way, no.”


	95. Cutting, Lucy's diary; 6, Oct.

Cutting from “The Westminster Gazette”

ASYLUM BURNS

The Purfleet Asylum, run by one Dr. Jonathan Seward, burned down in the early hours of this morning. It is believed that he, along with most of the patients, died in the inferno which the local fire crews fought for hours, barely managing to keep it from consuming the nearby manor house.

It is unclear whether the fire was started, or if it was an accident of some sort, as there were no eyewitnesses; the fire department being called after a local saw the smoke rising from the asylum.

Funerals will be held for the staff and patients who died on Wednesday the ninth.

* * *

Lucy’s diary, cont.

_ 6, O _ —Helene is far too pleased about something, and has been since early this morning when she returned from some errand she would not speak of.

Ah, but my ire over that pales in the fact of the fact that I am no longer in England! For she and I are bound for Greece, where she has said I shall meet with her family, a mildly terrifying prospect on it’s own.

Since Helene was not there to give me her blood in the morning, I fell...asleep? I can think of no better word for it, though it hardly suits at all. Only to wake up on the train late in the evening—I am not sure how to feel about being carried aboard in, likely, some underhanded manner. I wish it were light out still, that I might see the whole of Europe passing by me.

I am both excited and frightened by what is to come, and all that I will see. And I wonder, will I ever return to England now that I have left it?


	96. Van Helsing's diary, Lucy's diary; 9, October

Van Helsing's diary

(translated from German)

Oh, John! Your loss is a blow to medicine, science, and myself. You, whom I though of as a second son, a chance to do better after my own dear Peter’s death. At least I know your death was a true one, and that I shall not have to give to you what I had given to him, and what I shall give to Miss Lucy and the others, which is to say, salvation.

Your death shocked all of our party, and we shared that grief today at your funeral. But even so, we _must_ continue our hunt, and we have agreed to leave tomorrow without further delay. I hope you smile upon us up in Heaven and give us a good blessing, so that we might catch our prey quickly and dispatch him with all due diligence. And when I eventually meet my own end, I hope you will welcome me with open arms.

* * *

Lucy’s diary, cont.

 _9, O_ —Greece is not what I expected. Or perhaps it is better to say it looks nothing like the paintings I have seen of Greece, full of lush valleys and rivers. Helene tells me that it is the beginning of spring here, and that the lushness I expect shall soon arrive. Which does not make much sense from what I know of seasons, but this is her homeland, and she knows it better than I.

We arrived in Sparta yesterday, to languorous heat, going to an almost palatial manor house on the outskirts of the city. We were clearly expected for when we arrived the servants greeted us and showed us to a lavishly appointed room. They also clearly knew what we were, for they offered no food, and instead an hour after we’d settled in I was presented with a healthy young man to drink form. Which was quite shocking in a way, not even when we stayed with Koromezzo was I fed like this.

I did drink, though felt some guilt, despite the fact the young man, who told me his name is Antonios, gave it freely. The guilt makes no sense, for is it not better to drink from a source gladly given, than to take from the unknowing?

We received other visitors today, ones which made Helene the happiest I’ve ever seen her. 

They are a handsome pair of twins, and after Helene greeted them warmly, and chatted for some time in Greek, she finally introduced me to them. Her twin brothers, Castor and Pollux. Whom have been granted a week with us, when they would have remained below in Hades, before they must head up to Olympus, per their agreement.

Olympus, the gods of a world I was led to believe was long gone. Part of me refuses to believe it still. That there is only one God, and all others are false idols. But is this all not proof that that idea is not so? Does not Helene herself claim to be a child of those self same gods? It is perhaps a good thing I did not go into the Church, for I am not sure I could wrestle so with such questions of faith and belief.


	97. Jonathan Harker's journal; 12, Oct

_12, Oct. Varna_ —Though we had heavy hearts after the funeral, we still left Charing Cross the next morning, arriving in Paris that night and boarding our reserved seats upon the Orient Express. We travelled night and day, arriving here in Varna around 5 PM. Right away Lord Godalming went to the Consulate, while the rest of us settled into our rooms in our hotel.

Mina and I are both filled with an anxious sort of excitement, and on my end I am certain there is some fear as well: that despite everything we hunters might truly win, and I think I love Emil too much to wish that ending.

Thankfully Van Helsing seems to take my emotional state as excitement for the hunt, and he cautions me to be patient nearly every time he comes to hypnotize Mina.

Which is now almost a daily habit since we left London, Mina has told me that if Van Helsing _is_ doing anything, it does not work a jot upon her, though she manages to act like it does. Only that she herself reaches out for Emil and he replies. I am perhaps a little jealous of this, that Emil’s blood gave her that gift, and not I as well. But that might give too much away, if I exhibited the same signs. Each time Van Helsing does his work he asks the same two questions: what does Mina see, and what does she hear.

So far she has always given the same replies. “Nothing, all is dark,” and “Waves against the ship, and the canvas and cordage straining against the wind.”

So even with the telegrams Godalming has arranged to receive about the _Czarina Catherine_ , we still know she is at sea. But the telegrams at least also tell us that she has not been reported anywhere as well.

We ate an early dinner, and have now all retired. Mina is reading in bed, and after I finish writing this I shall join her and, I hope, forget my worries for a time.

Tomorrow we are to go to the Vice-Consul, so that we might try and arrange our boarding the ship when she arrives. Even knowing what Emil has planned on that front, I still worry that he _will_ be on the ship when we reach it.

Godalming, and Van Helsing too, are both confident we shall have no troubles with officials or seamen, for, especially after seeing Lucy, Godalming is quite ready to throw his whole fortune into this endeavor. 


	98. Harker's journal, cont; 20, Oct.

_ 20, Sept _ —A whole week of waiting. Even knowing it was to be so, I cannot help but feel nervous. Daily telegrams to Godalming, but they all contain the same message “Not yet reported.” Mina has not changed her answers to Van Helsing’s questions, yet he still keeps it up.

Godalming managed to convince the shippers that he thinks the box we seek might have some stolen property of his, and got consent that he might open it at his own risk. Receiving written forms to that extent shortly thereafter. So no one should stop us boarding the  _ Czarina _ when she arrives. Though there will be no box. As much as I might wish that would signal the end of this, I know it will not be so. So we shall continue on, and trust that Emil’s plan will work, as it has so far.


	99. Telegram, diary, journal; 23, Oct.

Telegram, Rufus Smith, London to Lord Godalming

care H.B.M. Vince Consul, Varna

CZARINA CATHERINE REPORTED ENTERING GALATZ AT ONE O’CLOCK TODAY

* * *

Van Helsing’s diary, cont.

Arthur’s telegram today was like a spark to tinder, spurring us all into a sort of motion. Save for poor Madam Harker, who grew pale and still upon hearing the news.

Oh, John, with you not here, who should I share my suspicions with? For none would understand as you do, nor be prepared to take the action necessary. Though there is hope, for she seems better these past few days than she has since her attack. Our prey likely discarding her for the time being in favor of himself, and escape. As a child might, discarding a useful tool because it does not suit the moment; which shall be our victory!

Jonathan, Arthur, and Quincey Morris left to go secure documents and tickets for the train, while I and Madam Mina remained to consult.

Ah, what a mind she has, which I am again stuck with. So trained as a man’s would be, but so tempered with her sweet femininity; and still with the gift the Prince gave, but thinks he withholds. Which again is to our boon and his deficit.

She and I conversed some over the early portions of her dear husband’s journal, of his time in the castle, which is of great use to us now that we are so near to it. Of how the Prince repeats the same the same actions over as a criminal commits the same crime, and of the Prince’s selfishness and how it helps us to defeat him.

I am not sure what is to come, but I am resolved that it is God’s will Dracula die soon, and his slavish Brides as well. Lucy! I wish that we might have found you earlier and been able to free you from this fate!

* * *

Mina’s journal, cont.

_ 23, Oct _ —While I am still resolved to what needs to be done, I find I am growing tired. Having to keep up the charade, and always agree with Van Helsing is almost too much. It is a great temptation to perhaps leave, and make them believe Emil has called me to him.

I will not, for then all will lie solely on the shoulders of Jonathan, and I do not think he can bear the burden alone. I would be shirking my duties as wife in doing so, and I love him too much to abandon him in any fashion.

I can only pray that it will all be over soon, and that there will be no more death.


	100. Harker's journal; 24, Oct.

_24, Oct_ —Written on the train to Galatz.

Last night, soon before we left, Van Helsing attempted to hypnotize Mina again. She held off, long enough that there grew a tension whether we should break off and hurry to the train, or keep goin in case the latest pass was the last. Finally though she relented to Van Helsing’s attempt, but even then took pleasure in having to be firmly questioned before answering—she admitted after we had boarded the train, that the stubbornness helped with her exhaustion strangely.

So we now know Emil has made port at Galatz, and Van Helsing, of course, believes that we have some time to catch up. For he believes Emil cannot make his own way to shore without aid, or transformation.

Again hypnotism this morning, and again Mina resisted. Eventually only saying she still heard lapping water, and the creaking of wood.

We are due to arrive in Galatz early in the morning tomorrow. After that, I am not sure what Van Helsing will plan once we find no box aboard the _Czarina_. 


	101. Jonathan's journal, Mina journal, cont; 25, Oct

Harker’s journal, cont

_ 25, Oct _ —We arrived in Galatz early in the morning, and thanks to the fact Godalming telegram ahead, we had rooms waiting for us at a hotel. So we managed to take a brief rest, beforeVan Helsing, Godalming, and I headed out again around nine o’clock.

We made our way to the local agents of the London firm Hapgood, who were in charge of the ship and it’s good. They met us with much courtesy and let us right aboard the  _ Czarina _ , now laying at anchor for it’s next journey. Where we were introduced to the Captain, Croft, a Scotsman who seemed more than pleased to tell of the voyage. Which he went on to say was the most favorable he’d ever had the pleasure to experience.

“Were right afeared, for we expeit that we should have to pay for it wi’ some rare piece o’ ill luck, so as to keep up the average. An’ a’ the time we could no speer a thing. Ran by Gibralter wi’oot bein’ able to signal, an’ till we came to the Dardanelles and had to wait to get our permit to pass, we never were within hail o’ aught. Bah, such quick voyage in’t to our miscredit wi’ the owners, or no hurt to our traffic; an’ the Old Mon, who clearly had his own purpose in blowing us right quick, wad be decently grateful to us for no hinderin’ him.”

Van Helsing seemed greatly amused by this, giving a little laugh. “Mine friend, the Devil is more clever than thought; and he know when he meet his match!”

The Captain continued, seemingly pleased with the compliment. “We ran into a great fog, and since it wouldn’t let up, I joost let the Old Mon’s wind carry us. So o’ the crew weren’t sittin’ too well on the whole voyage, thinking it were cause of the great big box we were carrying from that strange London fellow whom they didn’t much like. But either way, when the fog broke up, we found ourselves just in the river opposite Galatz. Lucky for me that rousing box was marked Galatz via Varna, so I could get rid of it right quick, before the crew decided to mutiny. An’ right before dawn the other day, a man came aboard wi’ an order, from England, to receive that verry box. He had his papers a’ reet, an’ glad I was t obe rid o’ the dam’ thing.” The man spat, as if to indicate his story was now over.

“What was the name of the man who took it?” asked Van Helsing.

The Captain didn’t reply, instead vanishing into his cabin, only to emerge a few moments later with a receipt signed ‘Immanuel Hildesheim,’ and with an address.

To our frustration, Hildesheim himself was not in his office, it being a Friday. There was a clerk however, so that Hildeshiem might continue to do business while observing his faith. The clerk seemed a bit in awe of Godalming, and with little bargaining, told us what we wished to know.

Hildesheim received the letter from a Prince Korromezzo to collect the box, before sunrise to avoid customs if possible. This he was to hand over to a Petrof Skinsky, who dealt with the Slovaks who traded down the river to the port.

We then sought for Skinsky, but could not find him. A conversation with a neighbor, revealed to us he had gone away two days before, and no one knew whither. Corroborated by the landlord, who had apparently received the key to the place, along with the rent in English money last night.

I do not know if it was luck, or if Emil’s plan was truly that exacting, but while we were debating on how to proceed, a man came rushing towards the square we were in, breathlessly announcing the body of Skinsky had been found inside the wall of a local church, dead to rights. Which stirred up a right hubbub, and we extracted ourselves as quickly as we could, so as not to be detained in any fashion.

So Van Helsing and Godalming could find no definite conclusion. Except that the box was on its way by river. We all returned to the hotel to meet with Mina and Quincey, debating on whether Mina should be taken into confidence again. ‘Again,’ as if she’d ever truly been out of it by my reckoning.

* * *

Mina’s journal, cont.

_ 25, Oct. Morning _ —Mr. Morris and I remained at the hotel, sharing a leisurely breakfast. When I enquired why he wasn’t disappointed to be left so, he gave me a wan smile. 

“Traveled much, and even learned much. But can’t say I ever picked up anything more than English, Spanish, and Portugese. Got me by in most places right well. And anyways, four’s right excessive for checking in on a ship which’s empty, I reckon.” He grinned before drinking his coffee. “And I suspect you’d like the company, been a terrible strain on you and Jonathan, for what I can see.”

I perhaps blinked back some tears at the kindness. For it was so very thoughtful, yet somehow thoughtlessly done. I should hope all Americans aspire to be as Mr. Morris is.

  
  


_ Later _ —They are all resting now, and Van Helsing hardly needed any convincing to hand over the new documents to be collated into our manuscript. So I have added them in, and am prepared to give my last performance in this grand plot. Which is to say, tell them all, that Emil travels by boat manned by the Tzigane, on either the Pruth or the Sereth rivers; most ‘likely’ the Sereth accounting for it being closest to the Borgo Pass.

When I finished with this ‘reading’ of my mental inquiry, Van Helsing shook my hands as if in congradulations. He then beamed at me, and said. “Our dear Madam Mina, once more our teacher. Her eyes have seen where we are blinded, and put us on the track once again, where we will now succeed!” It felt almost condescending, but I managed to hold my tongue, and let them talk around me of their plans. Godalming’s plan to get a steamship, Quincey to bring horses. Of being well armed, both physically and spiritually.

And how we were to be seperated. Jonathan with Godalming, Quiney on his own, and myself with Van Helsing. For: “here Madam Mina’s hypnotic power will surely help, and we shall find our way to the castle and make sanctify that nest of vipers and so obliterate.”

_ Later still _ —and now we are ready to make leave, though with changes, for, despite Godalming’s money, there was not a steamship to be had no matter the cost. So he and Jonathan shall ride with Mr. Morris. While Van Helsing and I are to leave by the 11:40 train to Bistritz, with our own pockets weighed down with enough to buy us whatever we might need upon arriving.

No more writing, Mina! Not if there is to be time enough for Jonathan and I to give a proper goodbye. And perhaps I’ll have enough courage to tell him...


	102. Van Helsing's diary, cont; 26, Oct

Madam Mina and I arrived in Bistritz around noon. Despite my best efforts this morning, she barely succumbed to my hypnotism, and I fear she is growing more into the vampire’s power. I shall have to keep a close eye on her pallor and teeth going forward. So it's good we are two, for should the need arise I am willing to do the awful deed of ending her.

Have bought a carriage, some horses, and plenty of furs and blankets for the weather, which has grown colder now that we are nearer the mountains. Madam Mina and I have eaten, to my relief she ate quiet heartily, and we will ride off within the hour. Her progress is not as poor Miss Lucy’s was, but that she is having this period of betterness is not surprising. Still, I shall not let it lull me into complacency as I have been lulled before.

Hopefully we shall get at least a few miles behind us tonight, and that any farms we pass on our journey might be willing to sell or exchange horses with us.

The excitement coursing through me almost makes me feel young again. Ah, John, if only you were here as well. Your logic and cool-headedness would be of great use to us. But rest assured, the vampires shall all be dead quite soon.


	103. Jonathan Harker's journal, cont; 27, Oct.

_27, Oct_ —I ache everywhere. Not being used to riding all day in a saddle as Godalming and Quincey are, granted even Godalming is feeling the ache. So truly the only one out of us doing fine is Quincey. Who has joked that he’ll ‘make cowboys out of us yet.’

We have been following the right bank of the Sereth, which by now is the Bistritza, for the past few days now, though not it exactly, to save some energy in not having to trace every bend and curve. Our horses, even the three we have on a lead following for spares, seem to be taking the traveling well. Quincey says he bought them specifically for endurance, and that unless we push them we shouldn’t have any troubles with them.

Our fire illuminates enough to see everything in the small clearing we’ve camped out in. But in the forest around us I can hear the sounds of movement and panting. Godalming seems more than eager to go and hunt the wolves, most likely, but we’ve managed to convince him to wait a bit. If they don’t leave us alone _then_ we can shoot at them to try and scare them away.

Despite how exhausted I feel from riding, I cannot say it hasn’t been enjoyable. Riding through the countryside is a wholly different experience to passing through by train. And everything is in full autumnal splendor as well, almost enough to rival the spring explosion I experienced the first time I was here.

I should sleep now, so that I will be ready for my guard shift later in the night. I hope, Mina, that you are doing just as well as we are. Pregnant! God, I can scarcely believe it. We shall keep it a secret for now, for the obvious reasons. Should Van Helsing do anything to you, my dear, plan or no plan I will not be able to stop myself. Though I do not think anyone would disagree with my doing so.


	104. Mina's journal, Lucy's diary; 28, Oct

Mina’s journal, cont.

 _28, Oct_ —I was ill for the first time today. I know it is commonplace for pregnancies, but I disliked it greatly.

Thankfully it happened while we were at a farmstead, and Van Helsing was deep in haggling with the farmer in question for new horses. So I was able to scurry off into the woods and lose my lunch. The farmer’s wife must have suspected something, for before we left she pressed a little bag of candied ginger into my hands.

So far the farms we have stopped at have been quite generous, eager to trade horses with us, if for a price, and their wives giving us coffee, or tea, and a few snacks before letting us go. Van Helsing has been laconic in his conversations, saying we only are going through the Pass to Bukovina. Our estimations are perhaps not perfect, but we should reach the Pass by tomorrow, then it is only a matter of finding the offshoot that leads to the castle. Though considering Piri led Jonathan through a long and winding path, I do not think it will be as easy for _us_ to find it.

Granted, if all go to plan, we shall not find it at all.

Van Helsing has driven us for the most part, insisting I rest while he himself seems tireless. I shall play the good Madam however, and insist we swap the next time we stop. If only to give me something to distract myself with for a spell. Hopefully my sickness will not come again anytime soon, though I know it can. I would not put it past Van Helsing to make me the charge of the next farmer we meet, while he charges on ahead. 

I wouldn’t likely change what is to come, but I wish to see it all with my own eyes.

* * *

Lucy’s diary, cont.

 _28, O_ —Helene is leaving. She promises she will return in a few days, and that in the meantime I am to have a companion to keep me safe from Helene’s kin, or at least those from her father’s side of the family.

We were introduced soon after I woke, her name is Lady Hestia, and I dare say there is no one on this Earth as homely and warm as her. I honestly do not know how much protection she will truly be, but I do not think Helene would have chosen her carelessly. I am a little sad Castor and Pollux have already left us, they were quite charming, if perhaps a bit too inclined to speak of horses. But apparently while one might spend a week here or there, to abscond from a deal for longer is met with the displeasure of the gods.

I must say, here in this manor, I feel somewhat like an Araby sultan, but instead of a harem of women, it is comely young men who give me their blood every evening. I have started to grow used to it, but that does not alter the strangeness of it. I think Helene has had it done to spoil me, perhaps to make up how poor things were for me back in London.

Ah, I must go. Lady Hestia has promised to show me some of the sights, which Helene has been remiss in showing me herself. 


	105. Van Helsing's diary, Harker's journal; 30, Oct

Van Helsing’s diary, cont.

It has grown cold, so very cold. So we are grateful for the furs I procured and that there is ample wood for fires. Snow has begun to fall, and it paints the world so prettily that one might never know what evil lurks within.

Madam Mina has grown more listless, so I shall try to write more to make up for her lack, and despite my best efforts she eats but little. I fear she is falling deeper into her ‘sickness’ and may soon succumb. 

Now to the past: we arrived at the Borgo Pass yesterday afternoon, and have been following it at a quite slow pace to that we might not miss a thing. Despite my best efforts yesterday evening, I could not hypnotize Madam Mina, and she slept a deep sleep last night that she could barely be woken from.

Only a few hours ago, Madam Mina was driving, and turned us down a road I could barely make out. “Why are we turning?”

“This is the way,” she told me simply, something of her old zeal back.

“How do you know?”

“How could I not?” She answered back. “Have I not read Jonathan’s account over and over again? I would know this way even in the dark.”

Her answer has merit, and upon further reflection, it is clear this is the only road that runs into the Pass, so it must be the right one.

Tonight Madam Mina is even more herself, though she still cannot be hypnotized. She has been so bright and tender since she awoke, it is much like before her encounter with Dracula. While I tended to the horses she made dinner, and when I returned she urged me to eat, saying she already had. Indeed, she was chewing something, but I do not think it was the food she made, so I worry. But I did not say anything, for I did not wish to worry her overmuch.

If all Madam Mina shall do is sleep, then I shall not sleep at all, and keep the watch. I have made a circle of the Wafer around us, so that we shall be safe, and glad that I have done so. For I think I hear the laughter of women in the breeze.

* * *

Jonathan’s journal, cont.

 _30 Oct_ —We spotted the ship today, and are now following it as close as we dare. It should make landfall tomorrow, and we will meet it in the Pass the next day. God, I am not sure I can sleep, but I must.


	106. Lucy's Diary, Mina's journal; 31, Oct

Lucy’s diary, cont.

 _31 O_ —There is someone trying to get into the house… I haven’t seen him, but I hear his booming voice, almost as loud as the thunder in the storm outside. Lady Hestia is calm, and at the moment working on her weaving. She went and had a conversation with the man earlier, but whatever she said has clearly not dissuaded him and he keeps knocking at the door like a cad.

I am perhaps only a little less terrified than the servants, but I have to trust that Lady Hestia will not let anything happen to any of us while Helene is away. I must.

* * *

Mina’s diary, cont.

 _31 Oct_ —I, I now understand why Jonathan was terrified of Helene all those months ago. I feel something of that same terror now… A deep breath and a steady hand, Mina, she said she will not hurt me and I needs must believe it.

I was ill again this morning, thankfully Van Helsing had fallen asleep, so he didn’t see me cross his circle and head into the woods. Helene found me there, and was even kind enough to hold my hair back, her cool hands quite soothing as I lost what little food I’d managed to keep down. “Blessings upon your baby,” she murmured gently. “And may Hera watch over you.” She helped me up. “Now take me to Van Helsing.”

How could I refuse? Though this wasn’t part of the plan Emil had laid out, Helene was determined and I did not think she would leave off if I told her as such.

He was awake by the time I returned, and was clearly worried that’d I’d left the circle. “It is not to be done,” he censured me.

“I had to relieve myself,” I told him. Which was perhaps a bit too forward, but would likely stop him from pressing the matter further. Though I perhaps should not have worried so, for he glanced over my shoulder and became a pale white.

“Madam,” his voice held only the barest tremble. “You will get behind me, yes, and together we well back up towards the bags.” I turned to see Helene, serenely walking towards us. Turning back to Van Helsing, I saw him glance at the ground, as if to check his circle was still whole.

It was, but it didn’t stop Helene.

“Stop,” she said to Van Helsing, who had started to move. “You will not move.” He froze, though his eyes darted around, as if to prove she didn’t have full control over him.

“Oh, Abraham.” She glided towards him, and cupped his face with her hands. “I was perhaps too kind when we last met, but I only fulfilled the dying wish of Peter, whom you so cruelly slew. I would have made him a king, Abraham, but the father knows best, does he not?

“Now hush, let us go on a journey you and I. Mina, she sleeps, and is ‘safe’ in this ‘holy’ circle. So you take up your arms, yes? Take them up and cross those last few miles to the castle. You are clever, yes? Knocking the doors off so that you cannot be trapped, making your way down to the chapel, where Piri’s blind god watches the coffins you seek. Three of them, there in a row, mine is the finest, of course. Hajni is first, I think, the poor girl. Then Piri, gone to dust while she slumbers.

“You reach the grand, golden coffin, now. Open it and stare down at Lucy and I. I think even such a pious man as yourself would hesitate at the sight of such lithe naked bodies. Ah, the thought makes you angry, that you would be compared to any other man. Abraham, you are nothing special, no god watches over you, no holy mission has been given over. You are only a sad old man, who refuses to let others be anything other than what _he_ wants them to be.

“But let us use that anger. So you hammer in your stakes, and oh, does your darling sweet Lucy scream, scream and scream in pain until you chop off her head. She does not fade away to dust though, she is too new. Her headless body taunting you as you cut off my own head.

“So thus are we ‘saved,’ by your hand. You feel every inch of your old age, don’t you, as you make your way back to this camp. But you are not greeted by Mina, or at least not in the way you wish. You hear the sounds of wolves and come rushing, but it is too late. They have already made a feast of her, for what care they of the religions of man?

“Oh, how many more shall you fail, Abraham? Grief stricken you flee, you find your way back to the road, and oh! There are the rest of your comrades, shot by Tzigane, and torn apart by the Dracula you fear so much. Did you think you could go against a general such as him and win this war? Foolish old man.

“You are all that survives then. You have failed them all. Oh, how the grief drags you down, takes away all that vigor and zeal that drove you to this course of action in the first place. Dracula still lives, but what is the point? Your grief brings cowardice, flee, Abraham! Flee back to that backwater village in the forest that spawned you, until the grief consumes you, and you are nothing more than a shell of a man!”

Finally she let him go, and he did indeed flee, as if being chased by the same wolves that supposedly killed me.

Now she sits with me, to keep me company, though more, I think, to protect me, and will remain until tomorrow.

It is only a small relief that she has told me Lucy is well. Oh, Lucy, should I fear for you? Or be glad Helene loves you so, that she will likely never turn this rage upon you?


	107. A memory; 1, Nov

There is a certain sort of anticipation that comes before the start of a battle, though I am not sure this encounter could even be considered a skirmish.

Regardless, I could feel that anticipation as I lay there on the wagon, looking up at the sky while my now-distant kin talked softly amongst themselves. In the distance I could hear the sounds of our would be adversaries approaching, though out of all of them, only the young lordling truly sought my end. Still they came, to play out the ending of my little play, so at least what efforts I managed would not be in complete vain. 

The Tzigane around me can clearly see what I hear, if their reactions are correct. Ah, it is an agony to only lay here, and not rise up to fight for myself. But I have my own part to play, and it must be done to perfection.

Combat fills the air, ah, a rush I have not felt in ages fills me. If only this could be true battle and not the playacting of it. A cry from the little lordling, Mr. Morris ‘dying’ so easily.

There! The coffin lid is ripped from it’s hinges, and I am there! Jonathan stands above me. So fine and heroic.

He drives the knife into my chest, only a different sort of penetration. I grin at him as I turn to mist drifting away in the air. I can see Mina on a nearby bluff, watching all in earnest. Van Helsing is not with her, and I would frown if I had the body for it.

The Tzigane scatter, though I know they shall return soon. The lordling claps Jonathan on the shoulder, enthused about the victory, despite it’s cost. Even in this form it is easy to drift into his mind, to make him forget Mr. Morris’ body lies among the rest.

Mina calls out to them, and they take the horses to her. Jonathan asks about Van Helsing, and she only says that he went into the castle and she has not seen him sense, though her mind tells a different story. I do not think I can truly be mad at Helene for her vengeance, however.

Together they ride off, triumphant, into the setting sun.

But it is not the end.

Myself once more I walk through what few dead there are, my heart mourning them in my own fashion. “Mr. Morris?” I offer him a hand up.

“Thanky kindly, oof, your men sure know how to hit a fella.” Standing, he dusts himself off. “So now what?”

“You are free to do as you please, Mr. Morris. My castle is just over those hills and I would gladly offer you my hospitality, but if you wish to leave, then I shall provide you with whatever you wish. I, will be returning home, and will send for my sister and daughter.” Helene could do as she pleased, perhaps she would return, perhaps she would not.

Mr. Morris gave a nod. The Tzigane began to return, carefully collecting the three dead. “I’m thinkin’, might be nice to put my feet up for a while. Ain’t ever been in a real castle before.”

I smiled. “Then let us continue on.”


	108. seven years later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all should be glad I didn't actually make you wait seven years for this...

They return in the springtime, and take their time in doing so. Jonathan still believes it to be one of the most beautiful places he has had the pleasure to set his eyes upon, and takes pleasure in showing it to Mina, for true this time. Ashley is less inclined to enjoy the scenery, as young boys are wont. Wishing his father would race their horses instead.

Mina chastises the boy gently, but smiles none-the-less. Even if it is not proper, Ashley’s enthusiasm is catching.

So they are racing down the Borgo Pass, their laughter, and Ashley’s childish screams of glee, trailing behind them.

They slow only when they come to the path that will lead them to the castle. It is a road they take more carefully, though with the shortcuts that Emil has told them of shortening the trip considerably.

Even Ashley falls quite at the sight of the castle, stark against the blue sky. A reminder of bygone ages. The courtyard looks better kept than Jonathan remembers it, as if to prove that someone lives here. He lets Mina tug the bellpull, eagerness making his heart pound.

To their surprise it is Quincey Morris who opens the door. His grin a flash of white against his brown skin. “Y’all are a sight for sore eyes, and I hope you’ve rounded up a posse to save me from these fiends. Piri’s become a right card sharp, and at this rate I’ll lose the clothes on my back, and then she’ll demand the skin _off_ my back.”

A light voice comes from behind him. “I believe Hajni quite likes your skin where it is, Quincey,” Piri says. She pushes past him and embraces the Harkers gladly. “Oh, but it is good to see you. And ah, you must be the Ashley your parents have mentioned in their letters.” She crouches down. “It is a pleasure to meet you in person.”

“Nice to meet you too,” he squeaks out, after Mina gives him a nudge. “I like your castle.”

Piri laughs, charmed. “It is not really mine, but I accept the compliment regardless. I shall take care of your horses, Quincey will show you up. The rest will be glad to see you as well.”

The walk through the castle is a strange one. For Jonathan it is a return, but for Mina and Ashley it is all new, and the young boy certainly fights it all fascinating, though complains some about how many stairs they climb.

Through the door, and here is the common room where once Jonathan spent most of his time. Sitting by the fire is Hajni, Lucy—Mina lets out a brief cry of surprise to see her friend, whom she has only spoken to in letters since their parting—and Emil.

Who stands, and embraces them. “Welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> new chapters will be posted at 9 PST on their relevant dates


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